Operator: Session Two
by MissNemisisFace
Summary: The not really anticipated sequel, but it's here anyway. It will not quite be like the first one, but I've improved it. Also, his brothers are in it.
1. Chapter 1

Operator:  
Session #2

"Endret"

The sun burns a deep orange in the dusky sky and a harsh wind blows, carrying on it the unmistakable scent of mid-summer. A woman clad in a long, black duster and a man in an awkward green suit stand, together, outside of a warehouse on the edge of town. The two of them take off their sunglasses, hers black and square, completely concealing her inhuman eyes, his round and green.

"So, this is the place, right, 38?" The man in green says, popping his neck and taking a huge, elaborate battleaxe from his back. She nods and draws her gun.

"Yup. Ready, Once-ler?"

"Ready as ever, Three-eight, you know that."

"There's five of them in there-four downstairs, and boss-man upstairs."

"Right." The two of them vanish, leaving no trace that they were even standing there.

Inside, the two of them walk, staying low and to the shadows. True, they could easily take out everyone in there, but the element of surprise is always alluring. The woman stops short and holds her hand up, balled into a fist, signalling for the man, Once-ler, to stop.

"See 'em, E-6?" She asks, motioning to eight people: four men, three women, and a young child, bound. Three of their captors stand around them, holding assault rifles on them.

"No good, those assholes have their guns right on the hostages. If we go in now, they'll just shoot every one of them." Her finger moves, pointing to a fourth "asshole" pacing in the distance.

"We're going to start with that fuck-face. When he calls out, at least one of those pricks will run over there to see what's going on. That's when we'll jump the others. While we're wasting them, the remaining ones, except ol' boss-man, will come running. Got it?"

"Yep." He nods. "Pincer?"

"You know it." The two of them appear, standing to either side of the pacer, just out of sight in the shadows. The two of them dash from the darkness, the woman firing, striking the pacer's left leg, blowing it off below the knee. He screams and falls to the ground. Before he can try to get up, a silver axe-blade slices through him, killing him. The two of them slip back, out of sight. Two of the men run over there. The younger of the two stops.

"Son of a bitch, look, Lawrence! His leg's off!" "Lawrence" stops and looks down at the dead man lying on the dusty floor.

"What the fuck...?" Suddenly, he is pulled backwards, the haft of an axe in front of his throat. He gurgles and fires in an upward arc, striking the wall across from him, while the other man's head simply vaporizes. The haft is pulled harder and he struggles against the tall, lanky man holding him until there is a loud, popping noise. He falls limp. The third and final captor cries out:

"What's going on over there? I heard gunshots! Lawrence, Joe, what's going on!?" Getting no reply, he looks down at his captives. "You all stay right here. I'll be back, and if even one of you has moved even a little bit, I shoot the kid, got it?" They nod, terror in their eyes. He runs over there calling out to his allies. Before he can get a single word out, the dark wood grip of a large pistol comes down, striking him in the side of his head. He lets out a yelp and falls to the ground, his skull fractured. She fires once, into his head, to make sure of it. She turns to Once-ler.

"E-6, I'm going upstairs to deal with the big bad. You take the hostages out, okay?"

"Sure thing, 38." He nods. She runs for the stairs, and he turns to face the hostages. Smiling, he slips the axe back into its place on his back. "Hello, everyone. I'm here to rescue you."

"Are you with the police?" One of the men asks. He shakes his head.

"No. I was sent here by someone else. Everyone keep calm and quiet while my partner takes care of the last man here, and I'll untie you and take you out." He unties them and walks, leading the way, to the front door. He opens it and motions outside. "There you go, freedom! Take care, everyone." He opens his eyes. Standing outside is a large crowd of people, each of them looking right at him. Several police cars are parked out front, as well as a news van or two. His eyes grow wide, and he pulls himself back in. " _No, no, no, no. Fuck. Did they see me? I think they saw me. Damn it._ " He hears a gunshot and 38's laughter. " _I have to tell her_."

He meets her at the stairs, running up to her, frantic.

"Oh, hey, E-Six. What's up?" His blue eyes wide, Once-ler says, pointing to the door.

"They saw me! They all saw me, every damned one of them!"

"Oh, no shit? I sent you to let them loose, of course they saw you." Frustrated, he grits his teeth.

"Not the hostages. There is a goddamned _crowd_ outside, 38!"

"Shit. How many?"

"At least 30 of them. There's a couple news vans and some cop-cars, too. I think I may have even heard a helicopter."

"Well, fuck. Blink back?" He nods and the two of them Blink back to HQ.

"Oh shit, what do we do?" 38 walks away, her arms folded behind the back of her neck.

"Nothing. Job's done, man. Good work."

"But they saw me. A shit load of people saw me." She turns back around to face him.

"Yeah, but they didn't see you Blink or any crazy shit like that. As far as those folks outside know, you're just a regular guy-some vigilante that wandered in there, freed those folks, and vanished. Praise God, it's a miracle." She blows. "Mortals." He stands there, puzzled. Lately, it seems as if she were bored and was just going through the motions. It was really starting to bother him and he has decided to say something to her about it.

"38, what's been wrong with you lately?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's like you don't give a fuck any more. Used to, we'd go do something like that, and you'd get excited, slaughter nearly everyone there, and have me take the hostages or whatever outside. Now, you lack enthusiasm entirely-like you're just phoning it in. What's going on?" She shrugs.

"I don't know. I mean, after we kicked stupid's ass a couple years back, it just sort of feels like you and I are doing the same goddamned thing every day. Go kill all these fuckers right here, but none of the fuckers they have tied up, you see. Then come back. That's all we get to do. I want some excitement, some adventure. Something a bit different. Hell, that or just flat out let us have a rest, you know? Just because I can't feel tired doesn't mean I wouldn't like a break from time to time. I mean, you can't tell me you wouldn't like to just take a rest; sit on ass for a month or two."

"No..."

"See? I mean, there are a shitton of other Operators, we're not the only game in town, man. I'd like it if we just got to gloam around HQ for a bit, spar some-I'd really love to see how you fight, now. Maybe teach your little ass how to shoot a gun. That'd be cool." She goes back into the pose she was in a moment ago and walks down the hall. He stands there, alone, for a minute or two, then heads off to his quarters himself.

Later that night, he sits in his chair, his feet up on the window sill in his room. The window's open and a false night-breeze blows in, accompanying the illuson of an early summer night coming through. It was a nice night, he decided it would be, so he left his jacket, tie, shoes, and gloves inside, his button-down open. He shuts his eyes, letting the cool breeze blow through his soft, ebony locks. Then, he notices something. He sits up, his eyes wide.

' _What the fuck? Am I going crazy, or do I not have a pulse anymore?_ ' he feels his chest, waiting. ' _Come on, come on...please...just a little thump, I need to know. Do I...am I still alive?_ ' After what felt like hours, he feels it, a small, slow beat. He gasps, he had been holding his breath. ' _Oh, thank God...wait...son of a bitch._ ' he shakes his head, that wasn't just it. There was something else. ' _In the two years I've been here, I've not been hungry or thirsty once. Hell, I don't even really get tired, I just_ like _to sleep...can I still eat?_ ' He stands. ' _There's no food here-the Naturals have never eaten. I'm going to have to Blink into a store or something, find something there._ ' He does so, Blinking into a small grocery store. He stands there, the light buzzing above his head, the linoleum floor sticky under his bare feet, the very faint sound of Hank Williams Senior playing over the half-blown speaker of some forgotten radio. His eyes scan over the snack cakes he had Blinked himself to. After a bit, he reaches down and takes one he remembered liking when he was still mortal. He starts to walk to the checkout line, then remembers that he doesn't have any money. He bites his lip. ' _I don't really like to steal, but I need this; I have to know. Sorry about this._ ' He Blinks back into his quarters. Sitting the coconut-covered marshmallow cake on the table, he stares at it, trying to work up his nerve. Letting out a whine, he reaches forward, snatching it up and devouring it, quickly. At first, he feels fine, then, he falls to his knees, vomiting. Every bit of that cake, on the light wood floor of his quarters. After a few harsh coughs, he looks down into it. ' _It just looks chewed up...there's no stomach acid. Why is there no stomach acid? There should be._ ' A moment later, a pair of black boots stand in it.

"Hey, Once-ler, I was wondering if you'd want to..." 38 looks down at the white cake sticking to her leather boots. She studies it, then looks over at him, sitting, his knees up and his hands behind him, then back to the cake-puke. She pouts, then Blinks away. He stands.

"Oh, shit! 38 saw that. She is going to be pissed at me over this...why didn't she say anything to me? Why'd she just pout at me and Blink away like that? She doesn't pull any punches, not with me, not with anyone. This has to be bad. I should go talk to her. It might be better to go to her on my own instead of wait for her to come back in here, pissed off at me and made of insults." He walks to his door and steps out. He knocks on the door next to his, and, a minute or two later, 38 opens the door.

"Hey. Come in." She says, her voice more dull than he had ever heard it before. She steps aside, letting him into her quarters. He was too anxious to even notice that this was the first time she had ever let him in here. The walls had deep burgundy wallpaper, with dark wainscoting and a dark wood floor. The deep maroon curtains were velvet and hung over a large bay window, the sea as seen through the windows of a Spanish galleon visible through it. Above it, in a glass case, was a flint-lock rifle. Tall bookshelves line the walls, filled with old, leather bound books, some of the titles in languages he didn't even recognize. A four-poster bed sits against the wall opposite the window, decked out in dark bedding, an old map of the Mediterranean Sea hanging above. A brass lamp sits in the corner, casting a warm glow about the room and the scent of lamp oil fills the air, while an amber globe rests in the other, a warm light shining from within it. A goblet of red wine sits on a mahogany desk with a Victorian-era chair pulled a bit back from the desk. He stands for a moment.

"Thirty-eight... _these_ are your quarters?"

"I like boats and old stuff. What about it?"

"...Nothing." She shrugs, sitting back in the chair and going back to cleaning her gun.

"Just because I like to see how many times I can shoot something before it completely fucking disintegrates doesn't mean I can't like nice shit."

"Never said that, Thirty-Eight."

"So, what'd you need, Once-ler?"

"...You're not going to kick my ass?"

"Over what?"

"The cake, that's what. You can't tell me you don't have some sort of snotty remark about that, 38." She gets up and sits on her bed. She pats beside her.

"Sit. I don't have any other chairs, man. I'm not gonna make you sit in the floor like an animal, either. You're my partner, not my dog." Reluctantly, he does as he is told. "So, you wonder why I'm not giving you the verbal beat-down of a fuckin' life-time over the cake-puke? It wasn't fun to step in, and it makes me want to back-hand the hell out of you, but I won't. I'm not mad because I know what's up. You are _not_ the first E-Class, remember? I've seen this happen four times before you-Tsukiko was a bit of an odd one. Evil as a motherfuck, don't know why Master had her made, tell the truth." She shrugs, "But, she's a dead skank now, so we don't have to worry about her any more." She pats him on the shoulder. "They all went though this before you: Roldan, Kayode, Jaegar, and Listelle. All four of 'em freaked out like that when the last of their mortality slipped away. Roldan, perhaps the hardest. He's still broke from that, it's why he acts weird. Fucker don't talk, don't know how Tonfa puts up with that. If you stopped talking, I'd have to kick your ass in until you started back up again. Won't even respond to his name, just E-1. I mean, seriously, if you see him, call him Roldan and see what happens."

"So, what I'm doing is normal?"

"Normal is relative. You know Roldan stopped talking, Kayode went nuts. Started stabbing himself, shooting himself, jumping off high-up shit. Trying to see if he was really immortal, I think. Jaegar did pretty much what you did there, except it was most of a ham instead of a little cake. Poor Tin Can. Even worse for him, running around in that armor all the time like he's some sort of knight. Listelle got mopey for a while, crying a bunch. She got over herself, yeah, but she was fucked up there for a while. I mean, I'd be upset if my ass had to be bound to 72 forever, too. Fucking clown. Hate clowns." Getting back on track, 38 continues, "My point is, what you're doing was to be expected. Why fuss at you for something that I knew was going to happen? True, you're going through this quicker than the others, but still."

"Quicker?" He looks at her, his brows knit in confusion.

"Yep. This normally takes a couple decades. You've only been an Operator for two years, and that was the last of it. You won't lose anymore. You'll still breathe-I mean, _I_ breathe, and I was never human, so you know you're going to forever. Blood will still flow around in you, there, and your heart's still gonna keep beating. Just, you know, at 1/100th of its old pace."

"What about pain?"

"Huh? Oh! Nah, shit will still hurt, sorry to tell you. Only Naturals feel no pain. It'll dull a bit over time, though." She lies down. "So, that it? I mean, you're welcome to hang out in here with me if you like; I don't give a shit, and it might be nice to actually have some company in here, but you can go back to your quarters, too." He thinks about it for a moment, then just lies down, too.

The next morning, he wakes up to find 38 sitting at her desk, reading with her back to him. He sits up, rubbing his eyes, the light from her "window" bright, stinging them. It was still the view from the window of a galleon, but this time, it was morning, and the boat was clearly moving at a pretty decent speed across, what he guessed, was probably the Atlantic.

"I slept here the whole night?" He asks.

"Yep." She replies. "It's cool. You really seemed like you needed the rest, so I just let you be." He buttons his shirt.

' _I can't believe it. She's still...indifferent. I've never seen her like this. It's a little unnerving. I mean, she is an intense person. Loves killing people in as violent a way as she possibly can, laughing like hell while she does, but she's still...mellow. Fuck, snap out of it, Thirty-eight. You're scaring me._ ' She stands up, stretching.

"It was a long-ass night, E-6. After you just sort of konked out, I got up and found something to read. Read all night. Haven't got the chance to do that in a long-assed time." She pushes her chair in and puts the book away. "Go get dressed and we'll go see who the fuck we've got to go kill the fuck out of, today." He Blinks to his room, dresses and grabs Cassiel. He stands for a second, and thinks better of it, leaving the huge axe in his room, taking only the pair of kama. He Blinks into the Main Hall and finds 38, with an excited look on her face.

" _Oh, thank God. I don't know if I could handle "Apathy Thirty-Eight" much longer._ ' She rushes over to him.

"It's actually a good 'un. We're gonna go kill this asshole that makes kiddie porn. Gonna go waste the shit out of him and the other pervs that help him molest kids and record it for other goddamned perverts. I love killing fuckers like this. Lessgo! Let's go kill the douche-bags! Eight of 'em, too." She giggles. "Oh, eight. Nice round number. Let's not even Blink outside of the place, let's Blink on in there and just start waylaying shit." She laughs, this time. They Blink.

They find themselves standing in a rather large old house. From the windows, it seems they were in the middle of nowhere. A man sits in a ruined lounge chair in front of them. He sits, staring, stunned for a second. 38 smiles down at him.

"Howdy, fuck-face." She raises her gun and fires, blowing his head completely off.

"What the fuck was that!?" They can hear a man yell. After a loud chorus of stomping, the door flings open. Three men stand. Unarmed. 38 raises her gun, and holds it over her shoulder, firing. She hits the one in the middle, he falls. Once-ler darts to the other two, driving both kama through the one on the left, drawing them out, and driving the right one in an upward sweep, into the other man's jaw.

"Good. I'm gonna go this way, you keep headin' down that hall." She dashes down the opposite hall, her giddy laughter carrying back down the hall to him.

"Well, at least she's back to normal." He says. He hears two gunshots ring out. From the sound, he knows it's Debbie. He goes through the right wing of the house, finally reaching the large, high-ceilinged kitchen. A man raises out of the refrigerator holding a cheap beer. He looks at him, and takes his ear-buds out.

"The fuck do you want, weirdo?" He sighs and throws the right kama, it landing squarely between the man's eyes. In all this time, he still doesn't enjoy killing, even when he _knows_ the target deserves it. He places his foot on the man's head and yanks backwards, taking the kama with him.

"Good work. Tell you what, Once-ler. This time, you go get the big-bad. I'll head down to the cellar and let the kids out. I'm sure they can find their way back, and we really don't have any other choice, I mean, _me_ walking into town with a bunch of kids that just so happen to be listed as missing? People'll think _I_ took the little bastards."

"Really? You've never sent me to do that before."

"Eh, you've earned it, E-6. I know I've been a sad-sack for a while. Tryin' to make it up to ya." She smiles. "Now, go get him."

"Where is he?" Thirty-eight points up.

"Attic." He pops his neck, rolling the kama across the backs of his hands, as he walks towards the stairs to the attic. 38 holsters Debbie and walks out the back door.

He stands outside of the door to the attic, up on the second floor of the house. Taking a deep breath, he opens the door. Before he even knows what's going on, there is a sharp pain in the left side of his chest. He looks down, and sees a long, metal, spear-like contraption embedded in his chest and can feel the cold, metal claws around his heart. It is pulled, hard, from him by a man with sand-coloured hair and a sharp, cruel smile. Once-ler falls to his knees, his eyes wide, his hand moving over the hole, blood gushing out. The man scowls down at Once-ler.

"Fuck, whites and round pupils. I was hoping for one of the black-eyes." He shrugs. "Eh, I recognize this guy. He's one of 'em." He tries to stand. "Nope." He is kicked, hard, in the side of the head, falling to his right, his kama scattering across the room, lost in the darkness and dust. "Get up! You all are supposed to be _powerful_. You're supposed to be _immortal_. Get the fuck up, pretty-boy." He tries, pushing himself up, only to be met with another kick, striking him in the chest. This time, he cries out. Part of the man's foot had managed to catch the open wound. He coughs, lying on his back, his knees up and his arms bent at the elbow with his hands above him. His eye-sight fades in and out, pain making it difficult to see, especially in the dark. The little bit of light in there catches on the man's face, illuminating it. A wild smile crosses his face, a look of jubilant fury in his green eyes. He reaches down, grabbing Once-ler by the hair and yanking him over to a laptop, plugged in and shining a small amount of light at the wall. He throws Once-ler down in front of it. He pushes himself up, only to be kicked yet again, this time, to the back of his head, driving him forward. He skids a bit, and is grabbed by his ankle, jerked backwards, and rolled onto his back. "You wanna know how I know what you are, Mr. Green-suit? Huh?" He grabs his green and black tie, yanking him up by it. It constricts against his neck, choking him. "Now, look!" He pulls him by the tie again, this time, forcing him in to a sitting position. On the screen, he sees a blog. In it, he sees, amongst a great deal of text, several photos of different Operators. Naturals are depicted with their eyes in full view. There are several videos, one depicting Once-ler himself, Blinking over thirty feet across a room and slicing a man with a machine-gun in half with a single, upward swing of Cassiel...swung by one hand. The strange man laughs. "See? From that, you can see how I thought you'd be a lot stronger, Green-suit." He tilts his head to the side. "You're pretty popular, Mr. Green. Caught on camera a shit load of times, always with this black-eye with red hair and a big gun. She seems to boss you around, Greeny. You her bitch?"

"Fuck you."

"Oh! You can talk! And here, I thought you were mute." He gives an over-exaggerated sigh of relief. "I thought you _Executioners_ can't talk."

"...what? What'd you call me...?" He glares at him, annoyed.

"You heard me, you little bitch. _Executioner_. It's our term for your kind. You are a _white-eye_ , for obvious reasons-same goes for the _black-eyes_." He minimizes the window and turns on his web-cam. "Now, we're going to put on a little show, me and you." He shakes his head, chuckling. "This is going to be great-people fucking _love_ you, Green-boy. Sure, girls like you because you're _cute_ or _hot_. You also seem to be the strongest of the White-eyes, but all of you are shit compared to Black-eyes. Now, tell me a secret. Why are your eyes white?" His soft blue eyes look up into this strange man's eyes.

"Up your's." That man kicks him in the center of the chest, knocking him backwards.

"How about you watch your mouth, Green-suit? There's a good boy." He pulls him up by his tie again. "Now, answer my question. Why are your eyes like that? Is it because you were human, once? If that's it, how did you become what you are now?" He sneers at him, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Oh man, it's that red-head black-eye, isn't it? Like goddamned vampires, she _made you_ into one! That's why you are her little bitch, ain't it, Green-suit? Ha! The little fan-girls aren't going to like that." He says, his voice sing-song. "You hear that? He belongs to Red. Red and Green-like motherfuckin' Christmas!" He laughs. Loudly. "Speaking of Red, where do you think she is, Green? Think she left you behind? I think so. I think she just might have. I mean, you _did_ just get your ass handed to you by a fuckin' _mortal_. She seems like the rough-around-the-edges sort-like that sort of thing would piss her right off at you."

' _Is that what happened? Did 38 leave me behind...? No. You know she wouldn't do that...would she? No. No goddamnit, Once-ler. You know Thirty-eight. She doesn't know what's going on up here. If she did, the second she saw that camera, she would have shoved him through it. She'd find a way to make him fit._ ' His eyes brighten for a second. ' _That's it! What would Thirty-eight do here? This guy seems unstable-I mean, no shit. He's a child-molester. Those people have mental problems to begin with, along with that shit. He seems like he really likes the idea of me being on camera, and I know I am. I don't think it's live...could be. Meh. Doesn't matter. Look at him, still going on like that,_ ' He looks at him, flailing his arms, speaking frantically at the camera and motioning to him repeatedly. He doesn't give enough a fuck to pay attention to what he's saying. ' _Fuck-face. Filming yourself about to die, motherfucker...if I provoke him, I know he'll start beating the hell out of me again. I really don't like this plan, but if I actively get up and attack-start looking for my kama, anything like that, he'll see, flip his shit, and kill me. I mean, the dickwad_ did _know to take my heart, so he probably knows, or at least has an inkling, that that's a weakness-that I can be killed that way. Ugh. That settles it, I hate this plan, but it's the only one I've got, and the only one I can see. Get the shit kicked out of me for a little while, get my kama back, and kill this asshole. I can do this._ '

"-with enough money, you will determine what I do to Greeny! I know how sadistic you all are, so hop to!" He laughs again. "Oh man, Green. Look at this! Already, I'm getting people asking me to take your clothes off. Already, like, 20 people have asked that, specifically. Oh. This one's nice. "Bind him with his own tie after you get him naked, okay? God that'd be hot" and they put fifty million fuckin' "t"s in there. "Yeah, then gag him with his own underwear"...woah, damn, look at that one below it! A fuckin' _novel_ , there. Some of these are getting sick...and _very_ specific. Fetishes I've never even _heard_ of in there! "What the fuck is with that hole in his chest?" and below it, "fuck that hole in his chest". I love you guys." He turns back to Once-ler. "They want you, man." He turns back to the camera. "I can't do any of that shit right now. You've gotta pay, first. Anyway, let's get this going! Interrogation!" He takes Once-ler's heart out of his pocket, blood coating his hand as he holds it in front of the camera. "I think you all know what _this_ is. That's right! It's Green's _heart_!" The odd man squeezes his heart. He screams, flailing, twisting, trying to escape.

' _I-I have to calm down. Mother of fuck, that hurt! How does he know to do that!?_ '

"Now, you all know he can't do jack-shit while I have this," he puts it back in his pocket. "So, we'll just hold on to that, for a while-make sure he doesn't pop up here and rip my head off like we all know he can do." He turns back, looking at Once-ler, who was gasping for breath, his eyes locked on to him. "Remember that Pakistani gun dealer? Man, that was a fuckin' work of _art_ , Green! Just how much _of_ that guy's skull was still solid when you got done, 'cause it looked like you _liquefied_ his head!"

' _Rip your head off...? Well, you just gave me an idea. I hope the folks watching this at home like it. Perverts._ '

"We can't fuck around all day, though, can we, and I've already wasted enough time. So, Green. End this speculation regarding who you were when you were mortal. They say that you're the guy that made that Thneed thing. That true? How are you so young? I mean, did she do that to you _right_ _after_ your company went belly-up, or something, because you don't look a goddamned _day_ older than you do in this old picture." He looks back and scoffs. "Still lying around?" He grabs him by the hair and pulls him back into a sitting position. "Get the fuck up for the nice people. There we go, Green! Isn't that better? Now, answer the question like a good boy. Are you or are you not the guy in this picture, right here." He motions to an old photograph of him pulled up on the monitor. "You are! You so totally are! Man, look at you, look at him. Same suit, same face, same guy."

' _I can't let this keep going. I_ know _he's live, now, I can see the_ requests _coming in on the screen. I can't let him identify me._ ' He reaches forward, grabbing the pervert and yanking backwards. He piles on top of him, sitting, his back to the camera, and beats him in the face just as he had done with O'Hare two years ago. He takes his heart out of the human's pocket and pops it back into his chest, letting the wound close as he grabs the pervert and jerks him to his feet. "You wanted it, and I _know_ your viewers will love this, the sick bastards." He grabs the molester's bottom jaw and slips his hand inside the mouth. Pulling hard, he separates the top jaw from the bottom, blood gushing out, the skull separating. The target's body falls to the ground, lying at his feet in an uneven, broken pile. He drops the top half of his head. He kneels in front of the camera, looking into it for a second before reaching forward, his gloved hand crushing it, ending the "show". He hears clapping and looks to the door. 38 leans against the door-frame, clapping. "Thirty-Eight!" She stands and walks to him.

"Bravo, Once-ler. I especially liked the head-ripping. That was nice. Good job wasting that pervert like that, letting him think he really had you."

"We've got a bit of a problem, here."

"Oh, what is it, now? Don't tell me more people have _seen_ you." She cocks her head to the side, then laughs. "What? What's the problem, here?"

"Thirty-eight, more people _did_ see me."

"How? It's just you, me, and that turd in here." She kicks the target as she says "that turd".

"That thing I just crushed is a web-cam. It was on a live-feed, streaming what he was doing to me to a shit-load of people on the internet."

"Well, fuck."

"That's not all, I'm afraid. Come sit here with me. There's something else, too." She looks at the dead man, crumpled on the floor.

"I have to sit near that? Man, I used ranged weapons for a reason. I don't want my coat gettin' all bloody." She perches down beside him, her coat, indeed, getting rather bloody. He shows her the blog. "Executioners, Black-eyes, White-eyes. They got the terms wrong, but a lot of this is accurate. How many people have seen it, Once-ler?"

"It's the internet, 38. Many, many people have seen it."

"Well, take it off, then!"

"Internet doesn't work that way. We're going to have to show this to The Master."

"Aw, fuck." She whines. "Man, He is going to be so pissed at us! I know I seem like the sort you don't want being pissed off at you, but Him, man. I've seen Him mad _once_ since the beginning. He fucked the entire _planet's_ shit in the street." Her body hanging limp while she keeps her head up, the two of them Blink back to HQ. She looks at him. "Let me call Him. I've got to let Him know we need to see Him, that we've got some serious shit we've got to tell Him." He stands there, watching her. She stands perfectly still, a vacant look on her face. After a couple minutes, about how long it would take to actually have a physical conversation with someone, she "comes to". "He'll see us, now. Let's get this shit over with and hope like hell He lets us live."

The two of them Blink into The Master's office. It is exactly as it was two years ago, save the blood. The Master stands with a very, very annoyed look on His face. He looked almost like a normal elderly man, except His eyes. They were not the eyes of a human, and not those of an Operator, either. They were almost solid gold-both the whites and iris-but His pupils ran in vertical slits, like His creations' eyes. He wore a black vest and dress pants, and a white button down. A pair of round eye-glasses rest on His face, and His short, grey hair was neatly groomed, along with His facial hair. Thirty-Eight immediately bows, Once-ler following her lead.

"We don't have time for this, today, Thirty-Eight. You and E-6, stand up." They do as they are told. "From what Thirty-Eight tells me, we must be very brief, today. She has shown me this _website_. While I am not mad at the two of you directly, I do find the sheer amount of times you two are pictured disturbing-perhaps I _do_ lean on the two of you too much, and I am really not fond of the fact that the most recent picture of you, E-6, is from the news. However, the two of you are the ones who found this, so you two must be the ones to put a stop to this." He smiles at the two of them, but there is a bit of mischief that does not augur well. "The two of you face a different mission than you're used to. Normally, I send you into a place, with you well aware of who to kill and where they are. That is not the case, this time. I do not know where your enemy is and neither do the two of you. You will not like the solution I have in mind-especially you, Thirty-eight. The two of you are to live amongst mortals until you find who is doing this and put a stop to it. I do not know how the two of you can remedy this problem, and I think it will take a lot more than just blowing someone's head off to fix it." He looks directly at 38. "The two of you will need to think, to be clever. Figure it out on your own, in short." He looks at 38. "38, you will never pass for a mortal woman with your eyes like that. Come here, please." She looks a little afraid.

"Yes, Master." She walks to Him. Quickly, and tightly, He grabs her by her forehead, squeezing. She cries out, startled, her hands jerking upwards. He lets her go, and she staggers backwards. She opens her eyes. No longer black, her whites are, as they would be-white, the irises green, and her pupils round. He looks at Once-ler, now. He feels anxious. If The Master just did that to 38, what would He do to him?

"When you were mortal, E-6, you _did_ gain quite a bit of fame...and _infamy_. However, it has been long enough that people will either expect you to be dead, or an old man. Just please, dress like a person. Leave that weird suit of yours here. The same goes for you, Thirty-eight. It's _July_. Mortals don't walk around in long, black trench-coats in July. It's too hot for them. The two of you will be provided with clothing when you leave here. Now, Thirty-eight, this is for you especially, but perhaps E-6 needs a bit of a refresher on how to "act mortal". Listen, please. Mortals are no where near as strong as you. E-6, Cassiel weighs over three times as much as you, yet you swing it around like it's made of paper. A mortal man could not do that. Remember that. The same goes for Debbie, Thirty-eight. That gun is enormous and the blow-back would blow a mortal's arm off. No lifting anything over fifty pounds, E-Six, and Thirty-eight, since mortal women are typically weaker than the men, to be safe, you shouldn't lift anything over forty pounds. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir!" 38 salutes. The Master looks at her for a second before continuing.

"Mortals get sleepy. If the two of you are going to stay in one town-especially if it is a small, close-knit community, you will have to rent a room at a hotel. "Sleep" while you are there, and if you choose to stay awake, be quiet and keep the lights off. Mortals also feel pain. 38 this is a problem specific to you. You have no concept of pain at all. That is why you can withstand a barrage of bullets without flinching. It simply does not hurt. E-6, teach her the appropriate reaction to pain, would you?" His eyes go sharp, any semblance of the mirth they normally carry, gone. "I cannot stress this enough to the two of you, but mortals typically don't like for people to carry an elaborate battle-axe and a huge gun about in town in plain sight. It _will_ draw attention to you. Leave Cassiel and Debbie here. They will be well-cared-for while you're gone. Also, if you must get into a fight, fight like a mortal. No Blinking. No tearing off limbs. No heart-ripping. No head-crushing. Mortals typically cannot do any of those things. If you have to throw punches, remember, _show restraint_. Don't bust anyone's head in one punch." 38 pouts. This was going to be no-fun for her. "This is the most important of all. Mortals usually do not name their children numbers. While you are out there, you can not be Number Thirty-eight, 38. You will have to call yourself by a human name. E-6, you have a very... _unique_ and noticeable mortal name. Take a pseudonym. In that same line of thought, do not call each other by your "real names". Mortals like cameras and they love to eavesdrop. 38, you cannot call him your Bairn, and he cannot call you his Progenitor. Thirty-eight, your name is Miranda out there. E-6, you will be called William for the duration of this. You have the _surname_ Sunderland, okay? You are to pretend to be a young married couple from out of town-tourists." He takes a deep breath. "Thirty-eight, this is really what worries me the most about you being out there-moreso than your violent nature and the high chance that you _will_ tear someone to shreds. Do not call anyone " _Mortal_ ", " _Human_ ", " _Meat-bag_ ", " _Stupid ground-monkey_ ", " _Sloshy bag of blood and water_ ", " _Sack of organs_ ", or anything of that nature. Finally, to make sure all my bases are covered, though you have existed since the beginning of time, 38, you are to act like a mortal woman-in short, only know about events that transpired, I'd say, in the past 30 years. E-6, act as you did when you were a young, mortal man-before you became corrupt, mind you. We don't need you destroying an entire ecosystem, again." He smiles and relaxes. "That is all. The two of you are ready to leave. Your clothing is in your quarters. Remember to leave your weapons here." The two of them start to leave. "Oh, and one more thing. Do remember to have fun out there, you two. Thirty-eight, not _your_ fun." He slaps at his head, laughing. "Oh, I nearly forgot, silly me. Thirty-three is going with you. He's already been briefed and is waiting in the Main Hall for the two of you, so do be quick." They Blink to their quarters, enjoying the ability to do _that_ while they can.

Once-ler shakes his head, this was going to be a long journey, and he _knew_ that 38 was going to be a sullen turd the entire time. No guns, no Blinking, no ass-kicking, no insults-she was going to be _very_ pleasant. Sitting his kama aside, he undresses and notices something. In all the excitement, he's forgotten that he's soaked in blood. Sitting his clothing in the bag Princess always left in there, he goes into his restroom and showers. Coming back into his quarters with a towel around his waist, he finds the clothing left for him on a desk in his office. They are _very_ familiar.

"What the hell? How...?" He picks up the grey vest, looking it over. Along with it was a white button-down, striped grey pants, and his old grey fedora. "I really don't have time to worry about this, now, but still, damn! These are my old clothes!" He dresses quickly and Blinks back out to the Main Hall, finding Thirty-eight and Gears waiting for him. He busts out laughing the second he sees her.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Shut up." She says, a scowl across her face. She stands there in a light blue sundress and a pair of sandals. She crosses her arms and glares at him.

"Well, it's a good thing that we're pretending to be a married couple, because you're pretty enough to kiss, Thirty-eight!"

"Don't make me slap you." After he collects himself, Thirty-eight glowering at him the entire time, they leave-38 finally getting her _adventure_ and _something different_ , after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Operator: Session Two

Chapter Two

Five people, lead by a sixth in an odd suit, step into The Pit. The stench of spoiled blood hangs in the air, and the metal floor clangs beneath their feet as they walk. The tall fellow in the suit motions to the carnage around him.

"This is what's left of Twenty-four's failed creations; the fake E-Classes." Gears, a gentleman with brown hair and rounded eye-glasses, stands, pointing forward, his eyes wide.

"Dude, look! Look behind you! Them, the rednecks in the overalls-they're fuckin' _breathin'_ man! Look!" Once-ler turns to face them and, surely enough, they are breathing very slowly as darkened blood seeps back towards them.

"Brett? Chet? What the hell is this?" He turns back and the elderly-looking gent with them, The Master, speaks up.

"It would appear that not all of these poor, unfortunate souls are dead. Those two are still alive, and it seems that they are trying to perform a rudimentary form of regeneration."

"We have to help them! They're my brothers!"

"Oh?" The Master's brows raise, curiosity plain on His face. "Your brothers, huh?"

"Yes! They're my older brothers! If they're still alive, I want to help them!" The Master smirks. The new one was a bit too heady at times; naive, certain that they _could_ be helped...and a little out of line making demands like that.

"And you are _telling_ Me we have to help them? Normally, I wouldn't. Normally, they'd be killed out-right. However, you have done a great service to us recently and it would be a rather cruel move on my part to have them killed as you watch." He snaps His fingers. "Fifty-four, Thirty-three, Eighty-nine-take the two of them into the infirmary. We owe E-Six that much." The two men and one woman nod and do as they are told: Gears taking Brett's body, Heals taking Chet's, and Archs carrying their heads.

It had been two years. Two long, boring years that E-Six's older brothers had been put in his quarters-"The Infirmary". Heals sits, staring at them, mulling over the annoyance their presence is to him. They have not stirred in all that time. Why keep them here? Sure, they regenerated their heads and the colour had returned to their skin, but they had stayed in what seemed to be a coma, all this time. Why not just end them right now? He's Heals, for crying out loud-he could say anything and most of the others would believe him, and those that don't probably wouldn't give a fuck, would they? He stands and walks to them, taking an empty syringe from a table as he does. He draws the plunger back, filling it with air, and, as he is just about to stick one of them-he could never tell them apart-his eyes open. Slowly, just barely, but his eyes open. The other one stirs nearby; waking, too.

"Who...?" His voice is weak-this first one.

' _Well, shit._ ' Heals thinks. "Hello. I am called Number Fifty-four, also known as "Heals". Who are you?"

"...name's Brett...where am I?" He tries to sit up, but can't find the strength. "Why can't I sit up?"

"You're in my infirmary, and you can't sit up because your muscles have atrophied. You've been lying here for two years."

"What infirmary? Where?" Really? Fine.

"How much do you remember?"

"I remember a woman in a black suit and dark sunglasses. Figured she was with the government-like my dad was way back. She told me the craziest shit I've ever heard-some nonsense about making me immortal and..." He catches his reflection. "Young again. I had the leukemia, you know? I was dying, and I didn't want to. I was scared, I'll admit it. I took her up on her offer because I was afraid of dying. I didn't really expect it to work. I'm not the smartest man out there, but I'm not that stupid. Looks like it did...I look like I did when I was just twenty-five years old."

' _Oh boy. Chains made them. Goody_.'

"Where's my brother...? She said she was going to him, next. He's not been the same since Tammi died last year..." He hears Chet groan beside him. "There you are! Thank God, I was worried."

"How long have I been out?" The other twin asks.

"Two years." He hides the needle amongst a pile of books about mortal medicine. "I'm going to have to go get someone. I was told to tell my _superior_ when you woke up." Leaving, he says to them: "Stay where you are." He steps out of the room and into the hall. He takes a deep breath and channels The Master, telling him that the twins are awake. A moment later, two "women" walk down the hall towards him. One of them has tan skin and blue and silver hair tied up high and fraying out in all directions. Some of it appears to have been singed. She is dressed in a grey sweater and black leather jacket. Next to her is a woman with dark skin and dark hair. A yellow scarf and a pair of goggles rest on her head, and she wears all brown. "Hey Mess," The silver-and-blue haired one nods, "And Paladin." The other woman nods. "The two of them are in here."

"Aren't you coming in, too? It is your infirmary." The one called "Paladin" asks. Her voice is calm, quiet, and a little dry.

"Nah. It's best if you two talk to them. Apparently, the one assigned to you is in the bed nearest the door, Pally."

"Please don't call me Pally, Heals. You know I dislike that."

"See ya, Heals!" The other one, Mess, says as the two of them enter the room. The two of them take chairs next to their assigned men. Mess turns the chair around backwards, sits on it, and rests her arm on the back of it while Paladin pulls the chair close to Brett's bed and sits neatly, her hands folded in her lap. "Hey, bro! Pleased ta meet ya!" Mess puts her left hand out to Chet. He looks at it, and back at her. "It's fine. You're still in shock or something, ain't ya? Well, I'm Number Fifty-Six, though a lot of folks like to call me "Bloody Mess" or just "Mess"."

"Why do they call you that?" She pulls a gun from her back and holds it to its side so that he can see it.

"See this gun? It shoots pure energy-Gears made me it a few back. I call him "Prometheus". I aim him at something, pull the trigger, and BAMPH! Whatever I shoot just explodes into this big, bloody mist with a bunch of arms and legs and heads and shit! Isn't that the coolest crap you've ever heard?" She slips the gun back in its place on her back. "Anyway, you've gotta be Chet, right?"

"Yessim." Paladin looks over at Brett, smiling softly-trying to keep him calm.

"Hello. I have been informed that your name is Brett. I am Number Eighty-Two, nicknamed "Paladin". I have been assigned to you to serve as your Progenitor, and you have been assigned to me as my Bairn. It means that I am to guide you, to lead you."

"Guide me in what?"

"We exist as embodiments of justice and honor. We hunt down the wicked and punish them as our Master wishes. Now, you and Chet will join Mess and I, carrying out His will."

"So get up, you two!" Mess says, cheerfully. "We gotta go train!"

"I can't get up. My legs don't work no more where I been layin' here. The blond guy says it's been two years." Chet says.

"It seems you two will take more work than the previous E-Class to be made and permitted."

"What's an E-Class?" Brett asks.

"You two. To be fair, anyone who was born mortal and became one of us, later." Mess says.

"The one prior to you, we've been told, is your younger brother. He is E-Six." She looks at Brett. "Your designation is E-Eight, and your designation," she turns to Chet, "Is E-Nine."

"What happened to E-Seven?" Brett asks, noticing the gap in the numbers.

"Once-ler's here?" Chet asks, stunned.

"Yes, your younger brother, Once-ler is here and is the Bairn of Number Thirty-eight, "Big Red"."

"As to why E-Seven isn't here, your lil' bro wasted his ass two years ago. Pummeled him into oblivion. It was cool. I always figured a pretty boy like him wouldn't be able to fight for beans, but he owned that jag."

"Ripped his arms off."

"Tore him right in half." Brett and Chet look at one another. Their little brother had done all that? Sissy, girly Once-ler? The one who _knits_?

"E-Seven was evil and was not permitted to be made. Number Twelve went against order when she made him. He was dangerous and nearly killed Number Thirty-eight. This enraged your younger brother, and he killed E-Seven. He later went on to kill E-Five."

' _What in the hell? Is Once-ler some sort of homicidal maniac now?_ ' Brett thinks.

"E-Five _totally_ deserved it. She was always a huge bitch. She went all evil, but I think she always was." Mess says, crossing her arms and nodding.

"Now, back to my earlier point. The two of you will learn how to fight."

"I already know how to fight." Chet says.

"Yes. You can fight like a mortal, but you are no longer mortal. You must learn to fight like the immortal beings you are, now. Your younger brother couldn't fight like that-wouldn't have been able to tear E-Seven in half with just his hands-when he first arrived. Thirty-eight had to teach him, had to groom him into what he is, now."

"He's pretty boss for a former-mortal, but he _is_ Thirty-eight's Bairn. We wouldn't expect anything less."

"How am I supposed to learn to fight when I can't get out of bed?" Brett asks.

"You'll regenerate. I'd be surprised if you haven't already." Paladin says, waving her hand in a dismissive manner.

"Regenerate?" Chet asks.

"Yup." Mess, this time. "It's something all of us can do: me, Paladin over there, ol' Three-Eight, your lil' bro. We can all do this. Now you can, too."

"He can regenerate?"

"Hell yeah! He's had the shit kicked out him in the past. He's had all his arms and legs cut off,"

"Cut in half,"

"Heart tore out,"

"Many of his bones have been broken."

"He's been strangled, like choked all to hell. Chains did that shit."

"Beaten black and blue."

"But he regenerates from it and is back on his feet in no time! Hell, within a minute, now." The two of them look at one another. Is this real? No, has to be some sort of weird dream. "So? What do you two think? Ready to join up?"

"What else will we be able to do?" Chet asks.

"Run faster than you could as a mortal, withstand shit you'd never have been able to survive before. You'll be a whole crap-ton stronger, too. Like, hate to keep getting back on him, but E-Sixers's axe weighs over three hundred pounds and he slings it around like it ain't nothin'."

"You will be able to do such things, as well."

"No one out-runs Rocket though. Speed of Nike on that one."

"Before we get too off-track, don't you think we should take the two of them to get their weapons?" Paladin asks her companion.

"Sure. Wouldn't hurt." She seems to remember something, "Oh, snap! Forgot their new clothes. Gonna go get 'em, Pally." Paladin scowls at her. "I know, I know. Sorry." She Blinks out of the room, leaving the twins sitting, staring at the spot she had once occupied, their mouths agape.

"You'll be able to do that, too. We call it "Blinking", but it's just teleporting." She stands and takes both her chair and Mess's chair back to the desk where they had gotten them, then goes back to her Bairn and his brother. "I'll help you up if you need it, but you should be regenerated, now." She puts her hand out to Brett. He studies it for a moment, then takes it, using her to stand. He lets go and is surprised that he's able to stand on his own. She goes to Chet, but he stands on his own. Mess Blinks back in the room holding two bundles of clothes. She hands the red and black bundle to Brett and the blue and black bundle to Chet.

"Go on, put 'em on! Princess made 'em for you. Have to have a way to tell you two apart, and she said that that way, you and your little bro will match." The two of them look at the women in the room.

"Mess, I believe they want their privacy while they dress. You know how the former-mortals are." The two of them leave the room and the brothers dress. The two of them are each dressed in a button-down-Brett's red and Chet's blue-a black vest, a pair of black dress pants, and a pair of dress shoes. They each have a tie, striped black with the other colour corresponding to their shirt-colour. There is a knock at the door.

"Can we come back in?" It's Mess's voice.

"Sure!" Chet calls to his Progenitor, though he doesn't completely understand what the hell that even means. The two of them come back in, Mess cheering when she sees them.

"Cool! You both look pretty good in your new clothes, and now I can tell who's who." She pats Chet on the back. Hard. "Oh, your little bro has an outfit like this now, too-except his shirt is green with his old green and black tie-snaggled it from his room. Master says it's for conceptual symmetry. Don't tell him, though. It's supposed to be a surprise."

"We should go retrieve your weapons, now. Though Gears is out, we can still get in his quarters. Come, now." She beckons to Brett and, though he doesn't understand why, he is compelled to go to her. The four of them leave the room, Chet and Mess following behind Paladin and Brett.

"So, you said Gears is out? Where is he?" Chet asks Mess.

"Before you two woke up, he had to leave on a mission." She responds.

"Doing what?"

"Pssht, you're a curious one, aren't you? Since the two of them are pretty much Master's right hand...s, E-Six and Thirty-eight went out on this mission. While they were out, they found this web-site thing that talks about us-what we are an' shit. Gears is really good with computers and all that noise, so he was sent with them. Gotta shut it down, but I don't know how that's gonna work." They open the door to find two metal cases resting on a table each. A note is pinned between the two, where the two tables meet. Paladin snatches it up and reads it.

" _Hey, 82 and 56, if those two in there wake up while I'm out, these are their weapons. Master said an axe for each of them, too, so that's what they get. Stay out of my other stuff. I'll know if you got in it. ~Gears, #33 ._ " As she reads that, a small robot hovers around, looking at the four of them, beeping, booping, and dwooing every so often.

"Hey, Scoots!" Mess calls out as she pets the robot. Paladin goes over to the cases and reads the smaller notes taped to each case. One reads "Uriel" and says "This one goes to Paladin's Bairn" underneath, while the other reads "Raziel" and says "Mess's Bairn" under that. She pops both cases open and motions to the pair of them.

"Go on, take them. Remember, you won't feel the weight." The pair of them nod and walk to the cases, taking out each axe. _Uriel_ has just one blade, long and curving like a headsman's axe. The counter-balance is an ornate orb with a central spire jutting from it, and a kyoketsu shoge sticks out from the opposite side of the blade, the leather strap concealed inside. _Raziel_ has long, elegant blades, from a distance resembling a staff more than an axe and the opposite end has the blade of a naginata. A total of four kunai are hidden in the mid-point of the haft. She grins. "Good. Now that you're dressed and equipped, let's go start your training. Mess, get your Bairn. I think, for benefit of the others, that we should share a quadrant in the training yard." Mess gives a mock salute.

"Sure thing!" She calls, standing rigid for a moment, then going back to her normal, slumping posture. The four of them walk out into the training grounds, taking opposite sides of the same quadrant. "What should we do first, Paladin? Teach 'em to Blink? I think that's where we should start."

"Great idea, Mess. The basics are the most important, right now." She turns to her Bairn. "It's really not as hard as you might think. It normally takes anywhere from two to six tries to get it right for your kind."

"Who all is there, besides us and our little brother?" Chet asks.

"We'll get to that later, Mess's Bairn." She turns to her companion. "Mess? Would you do the honor? Prometheus is better suited for this than Odin."

"Odin?" Brett asks, cocking his head to the side. He remembered his uncle telling him about Odin long ago-a Norse god, if he recalled correctly.

"Yes, my gun. I call it Odin. Focus, please!" While the two of them were talking, Mess has fired Prometheus twice, leaving two ankle-deep holes in the ground.

"Alright, Blink to them holes."

"How?" Both ask.

"Mess, they have no concept of Blinking. We'll have to give them a bit more instruction than "Blink to them holes"."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." She rubs the back of her neck.

"It's really not so difficult, I promise. The two of you, look at the hole directly across from you. Think " _Blink to the hole_ " and, if all goes correctly, you'll Blink to it."

"What if it doesn't go correctly? We won't get stuck together or nothin', will we?"

"No, you just won't Blink to the hole. Please stop asking questions right now and just do as I tell you, Brett. I certainly hope that your unwelcome curiosity now is not an indicator of your actions in the future."

"No, ma'am..." Swallowing hard, he looks at the hole in the dirt seven feet away from him. He focuses on it, his breathing slowing down. ' _Blink to the hole,_ ' he thinks, but nothing happens. "Well, shoot."

"No worries! No one gets it the first time!" Mess says, her voice as cheerful as ever. She looks at her own Bairn. "Chet, you try." He flinches, startled. He takes a deep breath and, staring at the hole, he thinks ' _Blink to the hole_.' Just as with his brother, nothing happens. The two of them try again, Brett getting it in three more tries, while it takes Chet four. Both of them cheer, proud of themselves.

"Good, good. Now, that the two of you have each done this once, you'll always know how to do this."

"Hey, hey, hey. Paladin. I think that we should answer their question from earlier. You know, show 'em that we're proud of 'em? What do you think?" Paladin nods.

"Now, which one of you asked...?" Chet raises his hand. "Ah, yes. Mess's Bairn. There are five others like you, your little brother included. You know that both E-5 and E-7 are dead. E-1's name is Roldan. He is the partner of Number Forty-nine, "Tonfa". She is the tall blond in the leather armor and black head-wrap, and is nicknamed for her weapon of choice. He, on the other hand, wears the clothing he wore as a mortal-600 years ago-and has long, dark red hair and green eyes. Roldan uses a knight sword. He's not named it, as he's not the imaginative type."

"He don't laugh or even talk no more. He's weird, man." Paladin looks at Mess, a bemused expression on her face. "Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt. Go on, Paladin."

"Thank you. E-2 is named Kayode and he is partnered to Number Sixty-six. She is often called "Princess" due to her self-centered nature. She's the shorter blond with long hair and a pink dress and she uses a pair of chakram. Kayode uses a Guisarme and is the only dark-complected E-Class. Next, we have E-3, Jaegar. He's a big fellow, not quite as tall as the pair of you, but very strongly built. He uses a Glaive and is the partner to Number Eleven, usually called "Tin Can" due to his armor. E-4 is Listelle. She is, as it stands, the only female like the two of you and she is paired to Number Seventy-two, "Pierrot". They are easy enough to spot: Listelle is the only female Operator with eyes like yours and Pierrot is the only one around here who is dressed like a clown. She uses a set of metal tendrils made for her by our very own weaponsmith, Gears. Pierrot uses a flame-thrower. Finally, we come to your younger brother. I believe I need not describe your own brother to you, but he is paired to Number Thirty-eight. For your own benefit, never call her "Big Red". She is not the polite or forgiving sort. You'll know her because she's as tall as your younger brother-the tallest female Operator-wears a long, black trench-coat, and has crimson hair. She uses a pistol, and your brother uses an axe."

"She cusses too much, man."

"She's nice...at least, to your brother, but she does, indeed, swear too often." Mess grins and draws her gun.

"C'mon! Let's see how ya fight, see if Gears did a good job on Uriel and Raziel!" The two of them look at one another. "Oh. There's targets, you're not gonna be fightin' me or Paladin-don't worry about that." Paladin presses a button while Mess tries to reassure the two of them and a set of eight targets emerge from the ground. "Hey, show 'em what Odin does, Paladin!" Paladin draws the needle gun from her back and fires at two targets at once, embedding shrapnel deep into both. "So, go on! Hack 'em up! We're leavin' 'em for you two-four each." The two of them draw their angel-named battle-axes from their backs. Paladin holds up her hand.

"Mess, you can instruct Chet however you see fit, but I believe I will guide my own Bairn, now."

"Sure thing."

"Your axe comes equipped with a kyoketsu shoge concealed within the haft. Draw it out." Brett nods and pulls the three-pronged blade from the haft, the leather strap coming out with it. "Now, swing it about until it picks up a good enough momentum, then launch it at the target furthest your left." He does as he is told, the blade traveling further from him on each go 'round until he releases it and allows it to fly, perfectly, into the target. It embeds in the target's head. Paladin smiles. "Good work. I see that being a quick study runs in your family. Now, Blink to the two in the center and slice the two of them in half in the same swing as you come out of the Blink. Do you think you can manage that, Brett?"

' _What in the hell? How am I supposed to do all that in one action like that? Shit..._ ' He thinks. Anxiety causing him to tremble a bit, he tugs on the strap, drawing the kyoketsu shoge back and putting it back into place within the haft. ' _Okay. Here goes nothin'._ ' He takes a deep breath. ' _In between the two central targets_.' He stands between them, and, as instructed, swings Uriel hard. Both targets' heads fall to the dirt below.

"Good. Now, I'd like you to destroy the last target by driving the central spike in the counter-balance of your axe into it's temple." As he does that, Mess turns to Chet.

"See? He can do it, you can do it. Like, Raziel has them kunai. Take out three and throw 'em at the center-left." He takes out one. "Nu-uh. Three. Hold 'em between your fingers and fling-like this." She raises her left hand to her chest, her elbow bent. Snapping her arm out quickly, she flings her hand forward, loosening the tight bind on her fingers. "See? Like that-just with your right hand, since you're right-handed." Taking out a second kunai, he cuts his finger.

"Ow! Damn!" He raises his hand to his mouth, but, to his surprise, the wound has healed before it reaches his lips. ' _I'm not sure if I like this...that's not natural. I mean, I know I'm not human anymore, but that's still weird. Gonna take a lot of getting used to._ ' He takes out the third kunai, careful to not cut himself this time, and slips them between his fingers. Mimicking Mess's actions, he slings all three blades into the target. They stick in ascending order, the last one right between the target's eyes. Mess cheers, jumping into the air and pumping her fist.

"Hell yeah! Good work!" She collects herself. "Now, Blink like your brother did, but to the rightmost one. Cut it vertically-cut it in half-in an up-swing, eh? Go for it!" He looks at her, studying the Natural's features. A huge smile always seemed to dominate her face and her eyes were always bright. He shakes his head, trying to settle his nerves, and does as he is told. He comes out of the Blink and, in an upwards swing, slices the target in half vertically. It falls to its sides. "Woo hoo! Just two left! Now, stab the naginata blade into one, draw it out, and take the head off the other."

' _Why is she always like that? No one is that cheerful. Well, better a cheerful weirdo than a stiff like Paladin or rough like Thirty-eight._ ' He shoves the blade into the chest of the one nearest him, draws it out, and slices the head off the other. "Good work! I don't know about Paladin, but I think you've trained enough. Training is way boring. We'll chill out the rest of the day, but tomorrow, me an' you are goin' on a mission."

"Mission?"

"Yuh-huh. It's how we carry out Master's will." She walks up to him and pats him on the back just as hard as before.

' _That is gettin' real old real fast. Quit slappin' me!_ ' Paladin looks to Brett, her same soft, warm smile.

' _At least I got the sane one...her smile's nice, too._ ' His face flushes. She puts her hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eyes.

"I am quite pleased with your performance."

' _Why the warm smile, the touch, and the eye contact along with something as cold as "I am quite pleased with your performance"?_ ' She knits her brows and he is snapped out of thought.

"I believe we forgot one last thing, Mess."

"What'd that be?"

"Collars. We cannot have the two of them walking about without their collars. I've got Brett's back in my quarters." She looks back to him. "Come. Let's go retrieve your collar." The two of them leave the training ground together. Down the long, white hallway, he sees a number of doors. Each of them are the same stark white and recessed just a bit. There are no visible knobs and there is a numbered plaque on each. They stop in front of the one reading "82". "These are my personal quarters, Brett. You can come in if you like. I don't mind and never saw the point in any of us guarding our quarters as much as some of us do. We don't sleep."

"So, I won't sleep no more?"

"You can if you like, but you do not need to." She opens the door and the pair of them enter the room. Its walls are block and a black and white banner dominates the furthest wall. The floor is cold and stone, and a candelabra burns in each corner of the room. Her bed is simple, no head-board, no foot-board and has grey bedding. There is a wooden desk next to a wardrobe. Upon the desk rests a stand intended for her gun, " _Odin_ " etched into the plate below. She motions to a simple pair of chairs around an even more plain table. "Sit." He sits and watches her go to the desk. She sits Odin on the stand and, opening one of the drawers, she takes out a silver box. She sits down opposite him and scoots this box to him. "Open it." He opens the metal box and, nestled in black velvet, sits a black collar; " _E-8_ " inscribed on the right side. He raises it to his neck and, with a loud snap, it fastens to him. "There we are. Now you are really one of us, though I don't see why Heals didn't just put the collars on you two as you slept."

"Paladin?"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to know a bit more about what I am now. Why do I need this collar?" She nods and crosses her arms.

"A fair question. We all wear these collars as a mark of our devotion to our Master. We are His hands, His blades, and His guns."

"Uh-huh. Tell me a bit more. I don't need to sleep, what else do I not need to do no more?"

"You no longer need to eat or drink...or the side-effects thereof...eh...In fact, as time wears on, you'll lose the _ability_ to eat or drink. Your body will reject any food you eat and anything you drink."

"I'll puke?"

"Yes. You will vomit. Your heart is going to slow, eventually, to 1/100th of it's mortal pace. Now, I must let you know, and I cannot stress this enough: While age and sickness will hold no sway over you, there are _two_ ways in which you can be killed-one more likely than the other. The most direct way to kill you is to remove your heart from your body and destroy it. If it is damaged in your body, it will simply regenerate. Right now, if it were to be removed, you would lose the ability to regenerate until it is safely behind your ribs again. Eventually, you will be able to regenerate all but the wound in your chest from whence your heart was removed while it is out. You can also be killed if every last drop of your blood were to bleed out. It's not very likely, but still, do try not to bleed to death. Your brother nearly met that fate two years go at the hands of the now-dead Number Twelve-oft called "Chains"."

"That's another thing; I'd like to know about the ones who are dead like I do about the others like me and the ones like you."

"Well, E-5's name was Tsukiko. She was thin and cruel. It is a good thing she is dead. She dressed in a black leather _costume_ and used a pair of war-fans. She was bound to one we no longer speak of: Number Twenty-four. Like Thirty-eight, he had no true nickname, though some of us were fond of calling him "Male 38" behind his back. A curious thing, that. He was made _before_ her. If anything, she should be "Female 24", but I digress. He was tall-the same height as 38-in fact, the two of them were very similar in skill, build, weapon, and temperament. He didn't swear nearly as much as she is wont to do, but they are both cocky and arrogant. He had blond hair and wore, surprise, her outfit-only in shades of brown instead of black."

"Why don't we talk about him?"

"Two years ago, he started a rebellion against our Master. Many died in that fight before Thirty-eight, along with your younger brother, Number 19, and Number 86, killed him. He was evil and desired, above all, power." She looks him in the eyes. ' _Do I really need to tell him this? I know that I must, and I know that Mess is likely telling E-Nine right now. Still, I do not wish to tell him._ ' Sighing, she says: "There is another thing-something important. The woman who made you and your twin what you now are was Chains. You two were made as a sort of _practice_ for her before she made E-Seven. As you were close, but imperfect, she was able to make him. A Natural Operator has only the power to make one mortal into one of us. You, along with Chet, were killed by E-Five. Since Chains is dead, I was assigned to you, and Mess was assigned to your brother. It was your younger brother's request that stayed our Master's hand-He wanted to destroy both of you when He discovered that you were not truly dead." She stands, abruptly. "It is growing late, Brett, and I know that, as long as she has not gotten herself distracted, Mess is taking your brother to the same place I am about to take you." She motions for him to stand. "Come." He stands and follows her down the hallway, door-after-door nearly the same except for the number etched onto each. At the end of the hall, they see a woman with blue-and-silver hair standing next to a man with black hair wearing a blue button-down. The woman jumps up and down, waving frantically. After a bit more walking, they stand outside of a door with "E-Eight and E-Nine" etched onto a small, gold plaque sitting a few feet from the bottom, dead-centered.

"Here they are! You guys' quarters! See, like, you two aren't the only twins here. Dem and Chem are, too-not like you all. I mean, like, Master made 'em together-they weren't born or nothin'."

"What Mess is trying to tell you is that there is another pair like you. Numbers Seven and Eight, "Demolitions" or "Dem" and "Chemicals" or "Chem". We often call them "The Armageddon Twins", as their combined destructive power is without peer in the Operation. Just as the two of them share quarters, the two of you are to share quarters." She opens the door and motions inward. The two brothers step inside and look about: one side of the room is a deep red while the other is dark blue. Metal-framed beds rest on opposite walls bearing bedding in the colour corresponding to the side of the room on which it sets, and a pair of dressers, one red and one blue, sit against the far wall.

"Blue one's yours, Chet."

"And the Red side belongs to you, Brett." Paladin bows low. "Now, I must bid you two adieu. Rest well, tonight, for in the morning, the real work begins."

"Gonna go on missions! It's gonna be so rad!" The two women leave, and the twins undress and go to their beds to sleep for the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Operator: Session Two

Chapter Three

Once-ler goes to the bed in the cramped little motel room they shared, wearing only a pair of shorts; it was too hot, even that late in the day, for anything else. His hair was still wet and his skin held a pinkish hue from the heat of his shower. He tosses himself down onto the faded blue comforter, sighs loudly, and turns on the TV. Thirty-eight looks up from the travel guide she had been reading.

"You wouldn't be hot like that if you didn't take such a hot-ass shower in July, you know that?"

"I like hot showers, _Miranda_." He had to make a conscious effort to call her that.

"I can tell; you've made the entire room hot as hell." He sits up a little and pats the bed beside him.

"Sit here with me, let's watch some teevee; take our minds off this _trip_ for a while." She sits the book down on the small desk in the room and looks over at him. "C'mon, I don't bite," he drops his voice to a low whisper, "and I know you're really gender-less, anyway, so what's it gonna hurt?" He brings his voice back up to a normal volume, "and it's our honeymoon." She stands, walks over to him, and sits down. "There we go." The two of them lie on the bed, their backs propped up by pillows, watching television. He flips through the channels, and Thirty-eight stops him.

"Woah, woah, wait. Go back a couple." He turns back two channels and is surprised at what she wants to watch.

"A basketball game? They're not even on this time of year."

"I know, this is a game from years back. Pistol Pete hasn't played in a long-ass time."

"You like basketball?" He asks her, his voice low.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"You're an enigma, you know that?" He laughs and lies back. "Do you know what today is?" She glances over at him. She knows damn well what day it is-his birthday, but she'll be damned if she lets him know that. She has a reputation, an image, to uphold.

"Yeah, it's Thursday." He turns, sitting up on his side, a bemused look on his face.

"It's my birthday. You know, we've been... _a couple_ ," this pretending to be a newlywed couple crap was getting hard to remember, "for two years, now. Could you show that you give even a modicum of a fuck about me?"

"If I don't care about you, why did I stay with you when you were a boy?" She knew she had to tell him sometime, and the current moment looked like a pretty good time. He tilts his head and narrows his brow.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Thirty-eight's posture relaxes and she sits back, more relaxed. Taking a deep breath, she prepares herself.

"When you were a child, I was sent to protect you." perplexed, he says:

"Why? Why the hell would you be sent to protect some little _mortal_ boy? You kill. A lot."

"Well, shit. You don't remember. Eh, it's what I was going for, and what I expected. When you were a very little boy, I was sent to protect you. I don't know why, even to this day, but The Master has been sending me to look after specific kids for a couple centuries, now. I was sent to look after you, that time."

"I don't believe you."

"C'mon, why the hell would I lie about this? Really? You know me, and know what I will and won't do." The two of them no longer care if the people in the other rooms hear them-Gears is in the one to the right, anyway. "If I didn't visit you, then how the hell did I get this?" She takes out a photo of him as a small child. She puts the picture back in the bag she'd been given and smiles; not her usual smug sneer, but a smile of comfort, of _nostalgia_. "You thought I was an angel." He sits back down next to her.

"Now, where would I get that idea, I wonder?"

"I told you I was one. You looked at me, kept asking all these damn questions about me: why my eyes look the way they do, why no one was allowed to see me besides you-we broke the fuck out of that rule, later-why I was so tall, why I wore a coat in the summer-shit like that. I got tired of answering, so I just told you that I was your guardian angel, and that's why...you know, all those things you were asking. You would make those words bite me in the ass, later."

"How so?"

"I'll get to that shit, later. Let me talk." She collects herself and starts back up. "I liked you a lot more than the kid before you. Mean-ass little blond girl. Asked me to kill her father. Kid after you had dark hair and no dad, too. That was an ankle-sweep, is what that was. For a long time, I looked after that kid because I felt like I was still looking after you, and I missed you. A lot."

"You missed me?"

"Fuck yeah, I missed you! We were close, me and you."

"What did I call you?"

" _Miss Thirty-eight_. I'm not good at coming up with shit when I'm put on the spot, okay?"

"You were on the spot?"

"Yeah, all the kids before you and that kid after you, never saw me up close very well. Sure, the little girl ran right up to me and asked for my services as an assassin, but we didn't chill out like me and you did. Never got a clear look at me, and never carried out fucking _conversations_ with me. I Blinked into your room because I'm a stupid dumbass, and you were asleep. I don't know what possessed me to do something so fucking moronic, but I started to walk over to you, to look at you better. My foot hit something, this truck in your room, flashing lights, loud wailing noise. You shot right up in bed and looked right fuckin' at me-looked me in the eyes."

"What happened, then?"

"You _smiled at me_. You put out your hand to me, told me your name, and asked me mine. I told you Thirty-eight was my name, because I'm an idiot who can't lie worth a fuck and you said that Thirty-eight was a strange name for a lady to have. Then the barrage of motherfucking questions about every single damn aspect of me...'Bout a year after I show up, your dad died. Man, that tore me apart. You were alone; felt alone and confused. You cried so hard, and I just held you, all night, until you fell asleep. Apparently, no one had really talked to you too much about his death, never explained jack shit to you. You gotta explain that shit to little mortals. They don't understand it right off."

"You held me right after my dad died?"

"Yep. I had to protect your little ass because no one else was. We got close, me and you. Best buddies. You'd tell me all sorts of stuff...I don't know why I did, but I paid attention to what you were saying. I never really did that all that much, before. Just enough to answer if there were any questions...I'm an ass-kicker, not a nursery-maid, okay? I'm not the most child-friendly asshole out there; I didn't understand why He kept sending me to do this. You asked me a heart-breaking question. You asked: since I'm an angel if I had seen your dad since he was dead. I felt like shit, and told you that I had and that he was doing fine, happy. I told you that he said that he'd always be watching over you and that he loves you. I don't know where the fuck that came from; I don't normally know what to say about that kind of shit."

"38...you didn't cuss all the time around me when I was little, did you?" She laughs.

"Oh...damn. Thanks, I needed that. No. I actually managed to watch my damned mouth around little you. Still have no fuckin' clue how that happened." She chuckles a bit more, lets out a lot of breath, and continues. "You loved me a bunch, back then."

"Still do."

"Yeah, but you know what the fuck I'm talking about. I loved the hell out of you. Still do, to be fair. Gradually, we became closer and closer to one another. You would actually be waiting up for me every single night. Weren't even school-age, yet, mind you, so that was a motherfucking feat in and of itself for a kid that little. Always so excited to see me. Would give me a hug and tell me ' _good night_ '-a greeting, since it was always night when I'd visit. ' _I love you, Thirty-eight._ ' I loved you, too, little man." He looks at her, and diving on her, says:

"Oh! Thirty-eight! Come here!" He tries to hug her and, swearing copious amounts, she squirms.

"No! Get the fuck off! I don't want a goddamned hug!"

"You used to hold me, and it looks to me like you could use a hug, 38."

"Get off, damn it!" She manages to get out of the hug, "You're too damned big for that shit, now."

"Aw, but I love ya, Three-eight."

"That started back then, too."

"What did?"

"You calling me "Three-eight" sometimes. You used to draw pictures of us, as much as that worried me in the beginning. You asked how to write my name. I showed you, a three and an eight. You just started calling me three-eight from time to time after that."

"Wait, I drew pictures of you and me?" She reaches back into her purse, this time retrieving a yellowed piece of paper and handing it to him. He opens it and finds, drawn in childish hand, a picture of himself and 38. The figure that was labeled "Me" stood, holding a tall, black-and-red figure's hand. This figure was labeled "38". "You carried this around all this time, 38?"

"Yep. I told you, I loved you a lot."

"And you were just going to keep this to yourself?"

"You don't want to swat the butterfly when it lands on you. No, I wasn't planning on telling you shit." She sighs. "It got a bit worse, over time. You started becoming so damned attached to me, and to tell the truth, I was becoming too attached to you, too. Not just that, but others were starting to notice me...Brett and Chet saw me. Do you remember? They hanged with us for a while, but I can't look after three kids, so I requested Mess and Paladin to do what I was doing with you, there. And you asked your mom questions about Angels. She mostly just ignored you, figured I was an imaginary friend. An odd choice for an imaginary friend, but an imaginary friend, none the less. When she wouldn't ignore you, she'd usually pop off with " _Jesus Christ, Oncie, could you stop asking me so many questions about angels? What the fuck do I look like? The goddamned Vatican?_ " She was a bit of a bitch, your mother."

"Please don't call my mom a bitch, 38."

"Sorry about that, but she was always like that to you. You deserved better...that's when I knew."

"Knew what?"

"It was time for me to go, for certain. Not only were you getting ready to start school, but I was having thoughts about stealing you-a big-ass no-no for Operators. I had already been sneaking you outside at night-to see if I could. You were way too little to be Blinked back then. Would have fucked your shit right up, and I had to get you out of there, away from _them_. I had to protect you. You were _my_ baby, at that point."

"You took me outside at night?"

"Yep. You loved the fuck out of that, running around bare-foot in the night-air. ' _Hey, hey, hey! Three-eight! Chase me! You gotta catch me!_ ' Excited as fuck. You were an adorable little boy, you know that?" She shakes her head, chuckling a bit. "Smelled nice, too."

"The fuck?"

"I don't know, you just smelled nice. I'd notice it when I'd hold on to you. This nice smell just coming out of your hair." A wild smile crosses her face. "I wonder something...come here, Once-ler, let me see something." She pulls him close.

"Hey! No! Quit! Don't try to smell my damn head, Thirty-eight. Shit." He squirms loose.

"Hey, getting you back for hugging me, earlier. You do still smell like that, by the way."

"What the fuck ever. Man, what a weird thing to say to someone: " _You smell nice_ ". You crazy or something, 38?"

"Well, I think you do." She laughs. "Anyway." Her voice drops a bit, sadness over-taking the mirth that had filled it a moment ago. "I had to go. That was the fucking worst, having to tell you that I couldn't come see you any more."

"What'd you tell me, exactly?"

" _You're getting too big, Once-ler. If I don't leave soon, you'll be able to remember me when you're a man, and I can't have that. Not right now._ "

"Uh, huh. And how did I take that?"

"How the fuck do you _think_ you took it? You cried, held on to me as tight as you could, and cried. You begged me not to leave you. You said that I couldn't-I was your guardian angel. You asked if I wasn't there to protect you, who would be. What would happen to you without me there to keep you safe. I was your guardian angel." She hangs her head. "I couldn't leave you, too." Her shoulders move a bit.

' _Is she...no. Not 38. She's rough and hard. She can't be crying._ ' He thinks. He sits there, looking at her for a second or two. ' _I can't believe it, she is._ ' He puts his arms around her and pulls her close. "It's okay, Thirty-eight. I'm with you, now. We'll never be apart again, me and you-immortal, bonded to one another. You won't have to leave me ever again, and I'm not going anywhere, either."

"I know, I just...I was afraid I'd never see you again...I was confused, too. I mean, I had never given even the slightest of fucks about mortals before, but it tore me apart to have to leave you. That I didn't even see what I had become to you, either. That fucked me right up."

"What?"

"Think about it. When did I show up? Right after your father died. What did I tell you when we first met? I was your _Guardian Angel_ , sent to _protect_ you. I had taken your father's place, in your eyes. I was an immortal protector, someone who could keep you safe, no matter what. I could do anything, no one was stronger than me. I mean, after a bit, I picked up on you having to go to church every Sunday, waste of time that nonsense is. I knew what you had been told about "Angels", but it was too damn late by then." She pulls back and looks at him. "I mean, what the fuck could I say? " _I'm not an angel, I'm something called an Operator. We're immortal beings that go around carrying out the will of this fellow called "The Master". He made all of us, the Operators, so that we would uphold justice and protect the innocent. That's why we're immortal. We have to be._ " I mean, what the fuck does that sound like to you? Angel. You wouldn't have believed me."

"I guess you're right."

"Damn skippy, I am. I mean, what the fuck do me and you _do_ all the damn time? Uphold justice. Hell, before all this went down, what were we doing? Upholding some motherfuckin' justice, that's what, with a big-ass gun and a pair of kama. You _smited_ that fucker upstairs, too. Smited him a good 'un. Smited the fuck out of him. Tore his head off, man, that was fuckin' boss."

"What happened after that?"

"Huh?"

"After all the sad stuff, after you had to leave me, even though you'd be back, and _damn_ would you be back."

"I told you I would, too. I said that I have to go, now, but I'll come back for you when you're older. I promise."

"And you kept that promise. Good at keepin' promises and killin' things. That's my Thirty-eight." He says, trying to keep her on track.

"I stood there, holding on to you for a while, rubbing your hair. It was so soft, I just wanted to hold on to you a little longer." She calmed as she spoke. "I waited for you to stop crying so hard and fall asleep. Once you were out, I Blinked away...I would keep coming to see you, from time to time, though. I made sure that you didn't see me-I couldn't go through that, again, and I couldn't put _you_ through that, again, either. I just wanted to check in on you from time to time. I always made sure you were asleep, then I'd just stand, quietly, and look at you for a bit, then I'd leave." She pauses. "In all that time, I never stopped thinking about you, never stopped loving you. Decades of heart-ache, then The Master sent me to you. I was so happy. I could keep my promise, I'd come back for you. I did, but you were so old. It shocked me. I stood there for a minute, looking at you. It had been so long since I'd seen you...I didn't realize...you hadn't noticed me standing just feet from you, staring at you, just yet, so I stood there, puzzling on it. Why would I be sent to you now, while you're a dusty old fart? I didn't know you'd regress back to a younger state-you know, so you can fight better-I didn't understand. I figured I'd trust in His higher wisdom, and just do what the fuck I was told and make you, bring you into all this ol' bullshit here...there are times I regret it."

"Oh? Why's that? You have what you wanted, we're back together, and this time, you don't have to leave, ever."

"I can't help you. I...it's my fault. If I had just shut the fuck up, quit whining about you, then He wouldn't have sent me to you. I-I didn't want you to die, but I didn't want to bring you into this, to make you have to kill, to put you in harm's way like that. You're getting hurt again, and I'm not doing shit to protect you, just like back then..."

"Thirty-eight..."

"I saw the bruises! I fuckin' saw 'em. I didn't understand, didn't know what was going on, so you had to suffer while I, your _guardian angel,_ did dick to save you." She shakes her head. " _That's_ why your mom's a bitch. Right there. Sure, she stopped, but it don't change that she was _hitting you_ while I stood by and did nothing." He looks at her, confused. Why does he remember the abuse, but not her? Something isn't sitting right with him, but he shrugs it off.

"Thirty-eight, it's not your fault. You don't know much about mortals, beyond how to kill them, and you knew less back then. You didn't know what was happening to me. If you did, I know you well enough to know you would have killed my mother. Full-fucking-stop killed her, like, "Oh, my dear Lord, that used to be someone's head" level shit, so I'm glad you didn't. Being beat on for two years sucked, but being orphaned would have sucked harder, and you probably would have gotten into some sort of trouble for killing a "non-target" and we wouldn't be sitting here right now."

"But I've failed another child like that-the little blond girl before you. She said that her dad was beating her big brother, and that no one would do anything to help him, and that she was too little to do anything. She told me that I'm terrifying, a monster, a nightmare. She said that _I_ could do something about it-she stright-up asked me to kill her father. I failed that little boy, though he wasn't my target-except by proxy, and I failed you."

"Thirty-eight, you didn't fail me. You gave me something to look forward to every night. I'm sorry I can't remember you, I really am, because it sounds like you were really sweet to me, and remembering that would be pretty cool, but you didn't fail me. If you killed my mom, me _and_ my big brothers would be orphaned-three children orphaned by your actions. You're a mean-assed ass-hole, but you're not evil. You didn't fail that boy, either. What could you do, kill their father like his little sister asked? That wouldn't have done anything, either."

"I did talk to their father, though. I sort of threatened him. I was going to tear his arms off and beat him to fucking death with them. I showed him I wasn't fucking around, crushed this crystal door-knob in my hand-the door-knob for the room he was in. It gave the distraction his mother needed to grab that boy and his evil little sister and nope it the fuck on out of there."

"See? They got away because you _distracted_ their father. You didn't fail them, either. I know that, way you are, if he hit that boy again, you would have raged and killed the hell out of him. I've seen you rage. It's scary as hell."

"Oh, that's not rage-that's annoyed. Rage'd come up if someone fucked with you. If another motherfucker hurts you, especially to the level 12 did, I'll sew their ass to their face."

"You're a lot nicer than you like to pretend, Thirty-eight. You're one of the more violent folks out there, but you do give a fuck."

"Told you so...so, are we cool?"

"Yeah, we're cool, Thirty-eight." He thinks about saying something. He knows how pissy she can be sometimes, but he decides to go for it, anyway. "Thirty-eight...a long time ago, while my Thneeds were still selling like hell, I used to notice someone in the crowd-a woman, always dressed in a black duster, black sunglasses, and big boots. She had long, red hair...was that you?"

"Yeah, that was me." She says, her voice flat. She didn't like where this line of questioning was headed.

"Why'd you stare at me all the damn time? I even tried to point you out to other people-no one else seemed to see you. I thought I was going crazy, there for a while. Thanks for that."

"I was keepin' a watch out on ya, dipshit. Still had to look after you, even if it was indirectly." Though he didn't appreciate the "dipshit" in that sentence, he shrugs it off. He ponders on something. It was a memory lingering from when he had been " _Biggering_ "-he wasn't sure if it was a memory or a dream. He needs to know.

"Thirty-eight, I have to ask you something else. I think I caught you visiting me in my sleep. It was while my company was still on top, just like when you used to stalk me. I-I don't know if it was a dream, or if it was really you. I just remember someone brushing the hair back from my face and talking to me really gently. The voice was so warm, so filled with love-more than I had ever even heard from my own mother. I felt safe; I felt like a kid again. There is no way in hell that it was a nurse or something at the hospital-I had to have my right kidney and part of my liver out because of that shit, so I had to stay in there a while. Thirty-eight, I have to know: did you visit me in the hospital?" She nods.

"Yeah. I did. When that ass-hat fuck-face shot you, I couldn't stand it; pissed me off so much. I had to see you; had to see with my own eyes that you were okay-that you were still alive. I slipped into your room, past all those nurses and doctors and orderlies and shit. I saw you lying there, Once-ler. You were in one of those weird paper dresses they have folks wear at hospitals, lying in that movable bed. You had motherfucking _tubes_ in you-that tore me apart. You were out cold, man. I sat down; sat down on the bed right next to you. You didn't wake up." A warm smile crosses her lips. "I started talking to you."

"What did you tell me?"

"I said: _Hey, kiddo. I know it's been so long since I've come to you, and I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I should have protected you like I swore I would. Now, because of some ass-clown, you've been shot. Don't worry, little man, I'll find whoever did this to you and rip them to shreds my own damned self. I can promise that._ Then, heart-breaking shit, you whined. You whined and stirred in your sleep. I started talking to you again: _I know. It hurts, doesn't it? I'm sorry...at least you're still alive; if that son of a bitch killed you, I don't know what I would have done. Rage and kill everyone? Appear in front of all those mortals, pissed-off and tear the ass-wipe responsible limb-from-limb while they all watched? I don't know, but it would have been a level of violence and cruelty without peer on my part, and I would have been destroyed for revealing myself before so many mortals at once._ I picked you up, after that. I was careful as shit so I wouldn't pull any of them tubes out of ya. I didn't want to hurt you."

"You picked me up? Why didn't I wake up?" She shrugs.

"The pain meds, probably." She gets back on topic. "I held you in my arms, just like when you were a boy; your body limp and your arms hanging. Your head was on my shoulder, and I could feel your heart beating." She smiles, softly, her eyes half-lidded.

"Thirty-eight...you really did love me, even when I was at my worst..." She looks him in the eyes.

"Of course I did. You can do as you please, I'll back you up." She shakes her head. "I felt guilty for what you were doing; who you had become. I should have taken you, all those years ago, just like I wanted to. You didn't need your mother-never did. I could take care of you better than her, give you the love you were supposed to have. You would have been quite a thing; a mortal child raised by an Operator." An uneasy feeling washes over him.

"Thirty-eight...did you find who shot me?" The warm, loving smile is replaced by a cruel sneer.

 _She Blinks into a dark room. A human man sleeps in a stained twin mattress with no sheets. The apartment is little more than a flop-house with the walls coated in pictures of him-snippings from newspapers, from adverts, even the unintentionally unnerving Japanese-like mascot of him coat the walls like wallpaper. The only thing in the flop-house worth anything is_ it _-the sniper rifle he had used to shoot the only person Thirty-eight gives a fuck about. She took a moment to admire it. A beautiful thing, that gun. Blue-grey metal shining in the moonlight, large scope-this was made for_ great _distances. Quietly, she lifts it and takes the clip out. She doesn't have finger-prints, so she's not concerned about that. The magazine only holds five shots. High caliber. She clears the breech and puts the gun on safety before going back to the would-be assassin's bed. She kicks the mattress, knocking it and him over onto the dirty wooden floor. He stands up, shocked and angry._

 _"Who the fuck are you, bitch? Get out of my house right now." Thirty-eight clicks her tongue and shakes her head._

 _"Ya' see, I can't do that. Nope. I'm gonna stand right here, and you're gonna shut your mouth. I am more than capable of giving this flop-house a lovely new_ red _paint-job before you can make a single sound, if so inclined. Remember this, meat-bag."_

 _"Mea-" a shot rings out from a long, metal and wood pistol, grazing his right shoulder. He screams, rolling on the floor._

 _"As for who I am, I am called many names. To the one who loves me-the man you shot, I am Thirty-eight. Ancient mortals called me "Tisiphone". Long ago, I was in an opera under the name "Zamiel, The Black Hunter". Some call me "Azrael", and finally, most call me "Death"."_

 _"Fuck you!" He shouts, glaring up at her, blood oozing, slowly, from between his fingers. Thirty-eight's mouth draws._

 _"Now, I'm standing here holding your gun-nice one, by the way-too good for the likes of you, and I've got another-the one I carved your arm up with. The logical thing to do would be to treat me with some respect, dig?" He spits blood at her boots._

 _"Up yours, you delusional cunt!" She chuckles._

 _"I get it. These days, mortals like proof of what we are. Okie dokie." She shuts her eyes and turns to shadow. He gets up and tries to run for the door only to have her rise, slowly, from the shadows before him. He falls back, staring at this black mass rising from the darkness. As it reaches the height of six-and-a-half feet, it stops, a sticky, black fluid bursting out in all directions, splattering onto the "target". All he can to is stare, panic keeping him from making a sound. The black, tar-like blood drips from her, revealing a completely different being: a creature-no longer "human" at all. A grand total of four pairs of wings rest on her back, fluttering every so often. Her skin was pure milk white and her eyes were huge, shiny, and solid black. She no longer had a nose or mouth, and her head was vulpine and bald. Her hands had grown long, the fingers turning to talons. She flutters her wings once more, and settles them at her back, the last of the "ink-blood" dripping from the white feathers._

 _"W...what?! What the fuck are you!?" He screams. She crosses her arms. Shaking her head and speaking without a mouth, she says:_

 _"You ignoring me, dick? I done told you. I am the angel of death. You deaf?" He crawls backwards, his back smacking against his over-turned mattress._

 _"Get-get away! Get away from me! Get away!"_

 _"No can do, dude. You see, that man you shot was special to me. One does not simply shoot the one that Death holds dear. Oh, no no no. There is a blood-fine to be paid, and you're gonna pay it." She Blinks to him and grabs him by the neck._

 _"Please! I'm sorry! Don't kill me! Don't-don't kill me!"_

 _"Too late for that shit." She squeezes, choking him, holding him higher and higher. His face begins to turn purple and she throws him to the ground. "Get up, bitch." He scrambles to his feet and tries again for the door, sobbing as he runs. She Blinks in front of him. "Nope. No door for you." She grabs him by the right arm and yanks, tearing it from the socket. Blood spurts out in rhythm with the heart. "Not done, yet!" She grabs him by his hair and hoists him off his feet. He whimpers, holding his left hand over the bloody stub. Giggling like a small girl, she reaches, slowly, for his right eye. Blood, vitreous humor, and aqueous humor spurt out from behind the long, thin, snow-white digits as she digs deeper. In a fluid motion, she yanks the eye from its socket and drops him to the floor. He's growing weak; fading away. "Lost a lot of blood, huh? You made him lose blood. You're gonna pay back 1000 fold, fuck-face." He starts to convulse. "Not right now! We're having a good time!" She waves her right hand above him and he stops. He finds that he is still in pain-great deals of pain-but no longer feels as if he is going to die. "That's better!" She kicks him, face-first, to his severed arm. "Want to have a nosh-nosh?"_

 _"What...?"_

 _"Eat your own g'damned arm, ass-face! How much more clear can I make this!?" He sobs and she curb-stomps him, bringing him face-down onto his dismembered arm. "Ya see, I noticed the way you gesture-that there arm you're about to nom is the same one you used to pull the trigger on him. Eat it, bitch. Eat it, and I'll let you live." Sobbing, he starts to chew on his own arm, but he can't break the skin. "Oh, come ON!" She shouts. "You suck so much ass, dude. Really? Such a fuckin' puss that you can't even eat your own arm. What are you dirt monkeys coming to, these days? Try again! Bite harder, or I'll_ make _you bite harder." Weeping like a child, he takes his severed arm into his remaining hand, raises it to his mouth, and brings his teeth down on the fading skin. "Chew!" Tears rolling down, he does as he's told, his teeth breaking through skin and muscle. "Now, that looks like a good bite. Chew it up and give it a swallow." He whines and does as he's told. Nearly vomiting several times, he swallows the lump of his own flesh down; gagging and crying. "How was it? Was it yummers?" Blood caking his face, he trembles. "I'll take that as a resounding yes!" she laughs. "Now say you're sorry."_

 _"I'm sorry!" he screams._

 _"For what?"_

 _"For shooting that Once-ler guy, shit!"_

 _"Good. Who hired you to shoot at him? They're gonna eat their legs."_

 _"No one."_

 _"No one? You're tellin' me that you just bought that kick-ass, high-powered,_ military grade _sniper rifle to shoot at a guy who makes knitted goods for shits and giggles? Not bloody likely, dickweed. Who hired you?"_

 _"No one! I swear to God, I did it myself! No one hired me!"_

 _"Then why, cock-bite? Why'd you shoot him?"_

 _"I don't know!"_

 _"You don't know? You attempt to murder someone-by your own volition-and you don't know why? Are you like that one dick-hat who shot at President Reagan to impress that movie star? Trying to make some sort of stupid statement?"_

 _"No!"_

 _"So you're just being all silly and killing willy-nilly like an idiot with no real reason?"_

 _"Yes!" She sighs and shakes her head, her arms crossed. Speaking to him with the tone of a teacher scolding a disruptive student, she says:_

 _"Now, if you gave me a good reason, I was just going to kill you now-blow your brains out, but since you tried to kill him for no reason, I'm gonna have to play with you a little longer." He sobs, lying on his side. "And, I'm gonna be sweet and let you choose what I do next. Do I: take a leg? Take that other arm? How 'bout that eye? Oh! This one's cool-hope you pick this one-cut you open and force-feed you your own intestines?" He whimpers. "Which'll it be, buddy-boy?"_

 _"EYE! My eye!"_

 _"Puss choice. Oh, well. Next 'un'll be dealer's choice." She rips his other eye out. He screams and flops around on the floor, and she waves her hand over him again. She looks down at him. "One arm, no eyes, both legs...hmmm...what to do, what to do? If I take your tongue, I can't have you eat anything else, so that's a no-go if I want to do that...shit, think of something! Eh, it's not so cool, not after the eye-tearing and the arm-eating, but I do loves me my gun." She draws Debbie and fires, taking his left leg. He screams and soaks the floor in blood. She waves her hand again. "I wonder what I'll do next? I mean, I know how I'm gonna kill ya, it's pretty. Might just keep it."_

 _"P-please...please, just kill me..."_

 _"What a baby-ass." She looks out the window. The sun will be up in about an hour. "Well, I don't have much time to dick around. Where you keep them knives of yours?"_

 _"K-kitchen...I keep them in the kitchen..."_

 _"You got a boning knife? A filleting knife, even?"_

 _"I don't know."_

 _"Thin blade that curves. Big like a butcher knife, else-wise, you got a parring knife."_

 _"Yes! Check the drawer next to the sink! God!"_

 _"Thanks!" She pulls the drawer open and finds a nice, sharp boning knife. Skipping, she goes back to him. She reaches down and grabs him by his hair. "I took it off a little below the knee-kneel, ass-hole." he kneels, unsteadily. Quickly, she slashes across his abdomen horizontally. His entrails spill out. He's barely clinging to life. "Almost done! Gonna kill you, now!" She lets the bloodied knife fall to the floor beside him. He's too weak to try anything funny. Holding his head with her left hand, she draws her right hand back. With the force and power a mortal would not possess, she drives her hand into his back, coiling her fingers around his spine as she jerks out his back-bone. He falls in a ruined heap as she looks down at him. She takes the spine to the sink and washes the blood and such off it. Sitting her "trophy" aside, she lets the last remaining shadows surround her, and a moment later, she stands, wingless and dressed in boots and a trench-coat-in sunglasses, she could pass for human. Striding to the window and pulling down a curtain, she places it over his body. She shuts her eyes and breathes out, slowly, then pulls it away, quickly. The body and blood are gone and the entire apartment is clean-well, as clean as it was when she entered. She Blinks, spine in hand, back to HQ._

He sits across from her, stunned. He knew she was violent and cruel, but all _that_? Making that man eat his own arm? Taking out both eyes? Blowing off a leg, gutting him like a fish, and ripping his spine out?

"How? How did you do that without facing any sort of punishment? I mean, that was far, even for you."

"Master gave me permission. I was _so pissed_ when you were shot. I guess He figured that it'd be better to calm me down-let me kill _one_ mortal than _stay_ enraged and kill _many_."

"Are you really all those things you said you were: Tisiphone, Zamiel, Azrael-The Angel of Death?"

"Nah, it's just fun to spook the mortals with that shit." Confusion fills him; one moment she was telling him things that were so _gentle_ , then she spoke of some of her cruelest actions. She truely sounded like a demon. Was _that_ rage? There is a knock at the door.

"Hey, guys? We gonna get anything done today, or what?" It's Gears. She gets up and lets him in. He is dressed no differently, but his eyes are now brown.

"You got it ready for us _Gregory_?" She asks, using his "mortal name". He takes out a laptop and sits it on the bed.

"It's a good thing this place has free wifi, I wouldn't have been able to do this shit without it." He grins at them, proud of himself. "I found 'em, the person responsible for the blog...but there's a lot more than that-others: Mortals writing blogs wherein they claim to be _hiding from us_ -all poppycock, but still...Then there's these assholes. Doing some sort of "documentary". The main guy-he claims that an old friend left him a bunch of tapes and that _you_ Thirty-eight, are in the background in, like, every shot-creepin' around, lookin' at kids. Now, it is fuckin' _obvious_ that that ain't you. They found some tall chick, either had her grow her hair long as fuck or it's a wig, and slapped a trench-coat on her; but they didn't do a good job. That's not the kind of coat you wear-your's is double-breasted, has a belt, and goes all the way to your feet. That one barely makes it past the knee and it ain't double-breasted-no belt, either. The gun she totes don't look a damn thing like Debbie, and you never had your gun out around kids, any way."

"Really? Some ass-hat made some sort of series where I stalk kids?" Thirty-eight says, disbelief in her voice.

"Yuh-huh. This is where it gets good-now, apparently, main guy is being stalked by you _and_ E-6, there. Like, he wasn't supposed to notice you in the background, or something. Guy don't look like you, either, E-6. Suit's wrong, but that's to be expected. I mean, how the hell are they gonna copy that suit of yours perfectly? You never hold the fuck still in any of the footage of you wasting people. He's also not as tall as you-like, noticeably. Rest of it is just him "trying to get to the bottom" of why you two are around, and why you're after him. It's a long-ass series of videos and a few people watch it. My point, here, is that there's too much stuff on us online, but this blog is where it started, the first person to start talking about us."

"So, what ya got? What are we supposed to do?" She asks.

"All I got is where the first ass-clown is; the one who actually has pictures and footage of us doin' shit." He meanders back to the subject of the videos, "Man, you two are popular-and you're not even pictured-really, none of that fake-Thirty-eight and fake-Once-ler shit-much more than anyone else. People just latched on to you two." He pulls up one of these "they're stalking me" blogs, "Especially this turd. Man, those pictures look a _lot_ like you-I almost thought they were you guys, until I realized I was being an idiot. This person _means business_ -suit's a near-exact copy, guy looks a lot like you-same goes for the girl they got to be you, Three-eight. Two fakes are the same height-probably not really as tall as you two-just camera trickery," he was becoming excited, speaking more and more quickly. "Hell, that _is_ your coat-full-length, double-breasted, belted and shut-buttoned and belted shut. I especially like this one; gonna keep it, make it into wallpaper...just standin' there in the fog together, staring up at the dude's window." Gears continues to browse throught the pictures of "them".

"So, what do we do, Gears?" Once-ler asks, trying to get the Operator back on track.

"Huh? Oh! Sorry. Um, what we need to do is go to the person that made the initial blog; the one with the real pictures, and put a stop to it. Like, a few way back, something else like this was all over the internet-blogs like this, a video series. No one believed that that _thing_ was real-unless they were crazy or stupid-and the video was a big driving force behind the popularity of the thing. True, it wasn't the original, but it was the most popular. It got crappy, the actors started showing themselves too much, and people just lost interest. Now, in addition to being the first, the real site is also the most popular. The videos ain't got that big of an audience. That's where we gotta hit. You have to _convince_ the fart-face responsible to let you two "talk"-especially since you look human right now, Thirty-eight. The more people see of "real" you, the more they become disillusioned with the whole "Executioner" mythos. They'll get bored with it and move on to something else. It's how mortals are."

"So, that's it, then? We just go to them and ask them to let us be on their blog-to talk? How the hell is that supposed to work?"

"I kick their ass until they let us, Once-ler. Isn't it obvious?" Gears holds up his hands.

"No! No ass-kicking. You kick their ass, and they just write about it when you leave-show the bruises and blood and shit, convince the more idiotic and intrigue the non-insane. Show 'em that you two are the real deal-without violence, _Miranda_ -and get them to let you come on there and pretend to be "the actors" that "play" you two for the blog. It won't be fun anymore, will _ruin_ it, and people will just move onto something else. Problem solved."

"Can't I at least _threaten_ to kill them, _Gregory_?" Thirty-eight asks.

"I'd imagine you'd have to. Show 'em that you're the genuine article-your eyes, Thirty-eight-you'll have to show your inhuman strength, E-6. Then you threaten them. That should do it."

"It's getting late, how about we go after the asshole in the morning?" Thirty-eight asks. Gears closes his laptop.

"Sure. Get some rest and we'll head out in the morning." He leaves, going back to his room, while Thirty-eight positions herself next to the window and Once-ler lies down. He looks over at her.

"Aren't you gonna get any sleep, _Miranda_?" She shakes her head.

"You sleep. I'm fine, and some one needs to keep a look out." He knew better than to argue with her once she's made up her mind, so he just drifts off.


	4. Chapter 4

Operator: Session 2

Chapter 4

Peace, tranquility, warmth. Once-ler lies in bed, the picture of comfort. Sure, he no longer needed to do this, but that doesn't mean that sleeping wasn't pleasant. He feels someone pushing on him, pulling him out of a dream.

"Hey, hey. Get up. We're leaving. Me and Gears are goin' fuckin' nuts waiting. Get up." She pushes him a bit more, and he wakes up. Even with the haze of sleep still hanging on him, he could see the tension and excitement on her face. It was still dark out; he could see the moon out the window behind her.

"What time is it...?" She moves back a little and he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Three in the morning, now get up and get dressed." She gets out of his way, and he gets out of bed. He collects his clothes from a bag he had brought with him and went into the bathroom to dress. He steps out, fully dressed, but still groggy. "I don't see why you do that if it makes you all groggy when you're done doing it."

"You told me to sleep, remember?" It was too early for this shit.

"Oh, yeah. That's right. Sorry." Gears comes in, his pack on his back, ready to go. The three of them walk out to the car they had been given for this trip. It was a small, silver sedan. Thirty-eight turns to the two of them. "Do any of us know how to drive? I can tell you right now, I don't."

"I have a working knowledge of how to drive." Gears says, shrugging.

"I'll do it, I can drive. Let's just hope we don't get pulled over." Once-ler says, yawning and stretching. The other two aren't so sure they should let someone who's still half-asleep drive, but what are you going to do? They exchange worried glances before getting in; Gears in the back and Thirty-eight in the passenger side.

He had been driving for three hours when the sunlight came through the clouds, stinging his eyes. He pulls down the visor.

"I'll let you practice driving when we get somewhere we can do that, Gears. I can't drive us the whole way."

"Sure thing, E-6." Gears replies, drumming his hands on the head-rest of the driver-side seat in time with the radio. He was growing bored and restless. Soon enough, they reach a long stretch of high-way and he pulls over. They get out and Gears sits down, his eyes darting over the dashboard. He blows and mutters the steps he remembered from that driving manual he had read. After a couple of seconds adjusting the seat and other "before you start the engine" bullshit, he starts the car and drives. From the back-seat-Thirty-eight had not wanted to give up "shotgun"-he says:

"So, Thirty-eight, why are we even doing this? I was mortal when there was internet; fuck, I was a young man when that thing that Gears was talking about was popular. Like everyone who doesn't have some sort of mental problem, I didn't believe jack-shit that I read on the internet. An archive of bullshit. A good distraction, but an archive of bullshit."

"We can't take that chance. The crazy mortals are the most dangerous. Never know what they might do; might go off the fucking rails and kill people over this." Thirty-eight says, gazing out the window.

"Oh, I strongly doubt that." He stretches out; he had driven for a _while_ , and feels stiff.

"I'm with Three-eight on this, E-Six. All it takes is one kook. I've seen it over and over again since the first dirt-monkeys crawled out of the trees and decided to start walking up-right.. They're reactionary and impulsive."

"I've been turning this over in my mind. Once the shock wore off, I remembered that the internet was made of this shit when I was mortal; looks like it's not changed. I say that this is a gargantuan waste of time." Finally taking her eyes off the scenery spread out before them and turning back to look at him, Thirty-eight speaks up:

"Waste of time or not, it's an order and we have to follow it. Remember our little _talk_ two years ago?" Deciding to drop it, he responds:

"Yes, Thirty-eight." Settling into a comfortable position-it would be a couple hours before it was his turn to drive again-he lets his mind wander. ' _Well, I tried to talk some sense into them, but they weren't having any of it. They really don't understand humans, do they? Not even The Master seems to, since He sent us to do this. So detached from them...I'm starting to get that way. More and more every day, I forget what it was like to be a mortal man. It's the little things; the minor shit-forgetting what it feels like to be hungry, thirsty, tired...horny. I'm even starting to feel pain less and less._ ' He leans his head on the window. ' _That's not all...I've noticed that I'm changing in another way...I've become_ brutal _in combat. I've beat two people's skulls flat with my bare hands. I don't...I can't...this heat just rises up in me and I lose all control. Every last bit of my hate and anger surges through me and I just...detach. I know I'm doing these things, but I can't stop-not until they're dead, and sometimes, not even then...I'm a monster, now._ ' He pulls his legs up onto the rest of the back seat-as much of his legs as he's getting up there, any way-and wraps his arms around himself. ' _What am I becoming? I didn't know that it would be_ this _. There's nothing I can do about this, now. I guess this is just the price I pay for immortality and eternal youth.'_ He looks at Thirty-eight, who was busy fooling around with the radio, settling on music from the 1980s. It sounds like Depeche Mode, perhaps. ' _She did this to me. She turned me into this-whatever_ this _is-I'm not even sure what the fuck I am. Angel? Demon? Monster? Or just a man who sold himself to be young again?_ ' He reaches up, letting his fingers skate over the cold metal collar around his neck. ' _I'm wearing a damn_ collar _now. What the fuck was wrong with me two years ago? Why didn't I question any of this shit? Why did I silently accept this? That blog is right, I am an "executioner". I'm not dispatched to mete out justice, I'm dispatched to mete out death. That's all my life is, now, isn't it? Kill, kill, kill. I hate that, in the back of my mind-I hate to even admit it to myself-but I'm starting to_ like _it. What is wrong with me? How did I get like this...?'_ He pulls his legs up and shudders, closing his eyes.

"You cold or something?" Thirty-eight asks, looking back at him. He opens his eyes and looks at her. "I mean, this car's got heat-I can turn it on for you; me and Gears won't mind."

' _At least I know she cares about me, now._ ' He collects himself; no good to focus on the negative. "No, I'm fine, Three-eight." She tilts her head to the side, concern plain on her face.

"You sure? You're all balled up back there-looking like a dead spider-and have this miserable-as-fuck look on your face."

"I'm fine, really. Thanks for your concern, though."

"Okay, just wanted you to be comfortable, kiddo. It's gonna be a long-ass drive." She turns back around, stretching and putting her feet up on the dashboard. He shuts his eyes and buries his face in his knees.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG! There is a loud, sharp pounding on their door, as if it were law enforcement. Without even waiting, there are more knocks at the door, these in rhythm with "shave and a hair-cut". Brett and Chet sit up as there is more knocking at the door, this the "Pee Wee Herman" knock. No other way about it, they _both_ know it's Mess, now.

"Shit, hold on a second, Mess! I'll be right there!" Chet gets out of bed, throwing a pillow at Brett. "C'mon, if I have to get up, you have to get up, too."

"Actually, it would behooves you both to get up. We've been dispatched on a sweep mission together." A calm voice calls out-it's Paladin.

"That means go in there and kill everyone!" Mess says, far too cheer about this.

"The Master thought it would be best if the two of you were dispatched on your first mission together."

"So, get up and get dressed! We're gonna go kill Skin-heads! It's gonna be so sweet! You're not even gonna believe it!" Trying to keep her partner and his brother calm, Paladin chimes in:

"Mess and I will be waiting in the Main Hall for the two of you. No big rush, but I'd like to get this done, soon. We only have a finite amount of time left before their meeting lets out, or whatever goes on with those misguided, hate-filled, ignorant mortals." The two of them get up and dress, taking Raziel and Uriel with them. They find Mess and Paladin standing in the Main Hall, Paladin leaning against a wall with her arms crossed and her head down while Mess hops around, trying to avoid the cracks in the floor.

' _She's still at it? Look at her, hopping around like that. I can tell from here that she's trying not to step on the cracks. I mean, it was okay when me and Brett used to do that when we were six-but that's just it-we were_ six _. She doesn't even_ have _a mother. What the fuck is wrong with her?_ ' She stops when she sees them, landing on one leg and teetering for a second before regaining her balance and standing up straight. She waves.

"Ohai!"

"Hello, you two. I trust you found the Main Hall with little trouble?" Paladin says, standing up, her arms at her sides, now.

"So, why are we doin' this? I mean, I ain't got no love for no Skin-head ass-holes, but we can't go after all of 'em-too many. Plus, you can't kill an ideal so easy, else-wise we wouldn't still have Neo-nazi pricks." Brett says.

"Oh, these folks are planning an attack, where we're going. They're gonna kill a bunch of people, and Master wants us to go put the ki-bosh on that." Mess says, putting her hands in her pockets.

"Are you two ready? The first mission is always the hardest for those like you. You will have to kill without hesitation, without pity, without remorse. Remember that those you strike down are meant to be killed, or our Master wouldn't have willed it so." They exchange glances.

"We're ready."

"Cool! Me and Paladin are gonna Blink you there ourselves. It's a long-ol' way, and we don't think you're ready just yet." Without waiting another second, Mess grabs Chet's shoulder and the two of them vanish. Paladin places her hand on Brett's shoulder, and they Blink to the destination.

A room full of people sit, swastika banners adorning the walls, an oil painting of Hitler behind an oak podium, and a quiet rabble in the air. The four of them stand, their backs against a wall, peering around either corner of a door-Paladin and Mess closer to the edges than their partners.

"Wow, there are so many of them. I didn't realize there were still so many damn Neo-nazis." Chet whispers, Mess letting him have a peek, too. "What's the plan of attack here? I mean, we can't just go in there and start swingin' and shootin' and expect to get them all."

"Of course not." Paladin says, whispering back. "There are two other sets of doors, to the left and right of that podium, and this door-way. Those are the only ways out of that room. Mess and I are going to Blink behind those doors, open them, and start firing into the crowd. They'll panic and start running towards the two of you-likely trampling some on the way-and you're going to kill everyone who comes through that door."

"Right." They both whisper in unison. Paladin and Mess draw their guns and Blink away. The two of them take their axes, readying them.

"I'm a little nervous." Brett says. Chet lets out a quiet, nervous laugh.

"Me, too."

"Think we can do this?"

"If he can, we can."

"I hope he gets home, soon. We ain't seen him in a long time." The two of them turn their attention back into the room full of bigots. As the man in charge finishes his speech, the doors to his right and left fling open and a hail-fire of shrapnel and pure energy sprays into the room. All hell breaks loose. Chairs are knocked over, people are pushed down and trampled, and panic takes over the room where previously, there had only been hate. In a mad, blind rush, they run right into the twins, meeting Brett first. He sees them before they reach him. There is a dryness in his throat. He licks his lips and tightens his grip on Uriel. ' _Here goes...oh, God..._ ' As the first one reaches the thresh-hold, he swings, taking his head off. The man falls to the ground and some of those, to the back, stop, running back into the gun-fire as the two of them continue to hack and slash at the remainder. Chet can hear Mess over the din, cheering "Die, racism!" with so much glee in her voice.

' _Even killin' these fucks, she's so damn happy. Mess, you're making me uncomfortable._ ' he thinks. Soon after, bodies litter the room and hallway just outside the door, blood splatters turn the white tile below red, and holes full of shrapnel pock-mark the walls. Paladin and Mess stand in the room, Mess looking at the canister in her gun, checking how many shots she has left as Brett and Chet walk in with them, slipping Uriel and Raziel onto their backs. Mess slings her gun onto her back and runs to Chet. She stops just short of him.

"Good work! So, how many did you do? Huh? Did you get more than Brett? Me and Paladin have a bet going, who got more?" He stands, stunned.

"What?" Paladin goes to Brett, calmly.

"Excellent work. I must confess, I did not have such high hopes for your first mission-most E-Classes have difficulty adjusting to the way we do things."

' _Really...? Does she not like me or something?_ ' He thinks. "Thank you, Paladin." The four of them Blink back to HQ.


End file.
